Voodoo Child
by Genoscythe
Summary: There are no heroes here, folks. No prophecies, no worlds hanging in the balance. Just an unlucky troll with a pirate hat, a schizophrenic metrosexual tauren, a cannibal orc hunted by his own pets, and a Forsaken cursed by the mother of all curses.
1. The Valley of Trials

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 1 - The Valley of Trials**

By Genoscythe

Xan'Jin tossed about, wondering why his bed suddenly felt more like a jagged rock than a straw mattress. Trying to squeeze in at least a few more hours of sleep, he rolled over to what he hoped was a more comfortable position. This turned out to be a bad move on his part, as he ended up falling and cracking his head against the ground. Adding injury to injury, something large and blunt came down on his back and thrust his face into the dirt just as he was getting to his feet. "Back to work, maggot!" A harsh voice roared from above. Xan'Jin rolled onto his back, dazed and confused. A burly orc in a leather vest stood over him, grinning and slapping a blackjack against his palm. He was definitely not in Sen'jin anymore.

"What da hell, mon?" Xan'Jin felt inclined to ask. The orc responded by smacking him with the blackjack again.

"Don't play dumb! Pick up the axe and get back to work!"

"...what?" Another crack on the head.

"Foreman's orders! No sleeping on the job!" The orc bellowed, looking longingly at the blackjack in his hand. Apparently, he was waiting for an excuse to use it again.

"What job?" The orc got his excuse.

"Come on, make this easier on both of us. I don't like being the bad guy any more than you like getting beaten." The ecstatic grin on his face spoke otherwise. Sensing a pattern, Xan'Jin opened his mouth. As expected, the blackjack swooped down for another attack. This time, the navy blue troll caught it in mid-air.

"Let's start over, mon. Why you be hittin' me?" Xan'Jin forced his voice to remain calm.

"Well..." The orc sputtered, suddenly unsure of himself. "Thazz'ril told me to..."

"Thazz'ril?" Xan'Jin repeated, taking his first look around since his rude awakening. "Who da hell is Thazz'ril? Why do you care what Thazz'ril says?" It looked like Durotar, it smelled like Durotar, and the sun had a tendency to leave everything deep-fried like Durotar. So why didn't this little valley look familiar?

"Huh?" The orc said, now very confused. Xan'Jin released his hold on the blackjack, and now the thick green man twirled the bludgeon between two meaty fingers. "I figured you'd know who Thazz'ril was. I mean, working for someone tends to get you at least acquainted, doesn't it?"

"I don' work for nobody but Xan."

"Now who's Xan?"

This ruined Xan'Jin's little moment of bravado, and it quite pissed him off. He finally got to his feet, stretching his lanky limbs and standing at least a head above the orc.

"_I_ be Xan," he growled. The orc poked him haphazardly with the blackjack. Xan'Jin slapped the object out of his hands. "I don' even know what da hell I be _doin_' here! I don' need nobody beatin' me wit a stick!"

"Well, you were sleeping next to that axe, so I figured you were-"

"A peon? I be a freakin' troll! You ever seen a troll peon before?"

"I was only getting a little carried away, is all..."

"Jus' get outta my sight," Xan'Jin groaned, and the orc began trudging over to the discarded blackjack. However, the troll caught him by the shirt collar. "Oh, tell me where dis Thazz'ril is. I wanna speak words wit' him." Of course, Xan'Jin didn't and wouldn't – he merely wanted to know what kind of person sends other people to beat a third party with bludgeons for not doing something they weren't supposed to do in the first place. More importantly, he wanted to know how to avoid that kind of person.

"H-he's over there, by the exit. He's the foreman around here." The orc sputtered, who obviously didn't feel good about having the tables turned.

"Right, now I be havin' some words wit' him, so you betta stay away from dere for awhile," Xan'Jin suggested, waited for the orc to leave, then walked in the opposite direction. Now, free to wonder exactly what had happened to him and where it had taken him, he sat back on the rock he had been sleeping on. He definitely hadn't been drinking, because his father would've put a stop to that. _Father_. This realization brought on a new train of thought. _"When joo gonna volunteer, son?"_ They were his words spoken at dinner the previous night, and it was no question as to what Xan'Jin would be volunteering for. The only thing anybody volunteered for: joining the army of the New Horde.

_"Honestly, Xan, you cannot be-"_ His mother started.

_"Leechin' offa us," _his father had interrupted.

_"...livin' with us forever," _his mother finished, casting a dark look at his father.

_"I would, ma, but I ain'...special enough."_

_"He be right about that," _his father had put in before his mother could respond.

_"What do you mean, special?"_

_"Take Zai'Zan nex' door. He been raised by dwarves. Gadrin been praisin' his skill wit axes ever since Nesingwary dropped 'im off here."_

_"Just because-"_

_"Or Taraman. He been havin' those prophetic nightmares lately."_

_"Well-"_

_"Da boy be right. He ain' hero material."_

_"Damn it!" _his mother had yelled, getting to her feet. She never swore. _"Are you two gonna be cuttin' me off every time I try to speak? Xan, you may not be special, but that doesn't mean you can't volunteer! There's plenty of average people in the army. Why, Rai was a rogue for the Horde, weren't you?"_

_"Why joo have to bring dis up again?" _The rest of the night was irrelevant. It involved much shouting, slamming doors, and fitful nightmares. However, Xan'Jin thought he knew what had happened. Now he just had to confirm it.

Trudging down a small slope and into a flat, circular patch, Xan'Jin caught sight of an orc standing next to a large brazier that was blazing despite it being late morning. He figured this was as good a place to start as any. "'ey!" he shouted, and the orc lazily turned an eye toward him.

"Oh, it's you..." the orc muttered, shuffling toward Xan'Jin. "Name's Kaltunk."

"How'd I get here, mon?" The troll asked instantly. He didn't want any more detours.

"A young couple dragged you here last night. Signed your paperwork and everything. I guess you had a good last night of freedom?" Kaltunk spoke in short sentences, as if Xan'Jin didn't deserve any more words than were necessary.

"Young couple? One had a scar over his eye?"

"I guess. It was dark."

"You're helpful," Xan'Jin muttered dryly.

"Well, I _am _the master trainer here."

"An' here is...?" Xan'Jin said, knowing full well where he was.

"The Valley of Trials. You know the place. Lived right down the street, I expect."

"Yeah. I know da place."

**End**


	2. Cutting Teeth

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 2 - Cutting Teeth**

By Genoscythe

Xan'Jin learned something very quickly about the Valley of Trials: endless pain and suffering was the name of the game. The trials were designed in such a way that only true warriors could pass, and the weak-hearted would run for home. Trials like picking apples off thorn-covered cacti.

The rogue-in-training thought his skin was tough from years of mischief in Sen'jin village, but nothing could prepare him for the pain of reaching into a bristling cactus and probing around for an apple that may or may not be nestled inside. Whether it was there or not, at the end of the day Xan'Jin would be covered in cactus barbs. That became obvious after the first two failed attempts.

As Xan'Jin nursed his bleeding hands, he watched the other volunteers with envy. They rushed about energetically, wielding gleaming weapons and firing off impressive spells at the helpless wildlife. Xan'Jin tucked his shamefully rusty dagger further into his vest, in case someone took notice of him. There was a slim chance of that, for all the others were running about with dreams of glory filling their heads. Xan'Jin thought he would be lucky if the army released him in three years like they did his father, Rai'Jin.

_Father... _The word sparked fresh anger in Xan'Jin. When he had been told that he was enlisted into the army of the New Horde, he hadn't thought twice about it. Anything would be better than going back to his family in shame, mostly because dishonor was as good as death in Horde households, and Rai'Jin's was no exception. Disgustedly, Xan'Jin kicked at the cactus he had been rummaging through. Due to constant stress, the plant snapped and keeled over. Out of the gnarled branches rolled about half a dozen cactus apples. Xan'Jin couldn't fight the smile on his face.

Two hours later, he was being drilled by Rwag the rogue trainer on how to vanish at will. He called it stealth, but Xan'Jin called it impossible. Nevertheless, after an hour of intense concentration and mental application, he managed to make his snowy white hair disappear. Rwag told him to work on the rest of his body, then kicked him out of the Den and back into the dusty valley.

Next came Zureetha Fargaze, a she-orc that looked as if she ate trainees for all the meals of a day. Perhaps she did, because as Xan'Jin realized from scouting out the Burning Blade's cave, the task she gave him was suicide. He was to kill Vile Familiars, to "slay many" as she had put it. While he wasn't sure how many was 'many', he _was _sure that with their vast numbers they would overwhelm him instantly.

All daunting odds aside, he managed to lure a few away from their cave by holding out his bag of Cactus Apple Surprise. After slaying three, Xan'Jin realized he could use the vague job description to his advantage. Minutes later, he was standing in front of Zureetha once more. "I did it, mon. They all be dead."

The she-orc raised an eyebrow. "_All _of them?"

"Ja."

"That cave up there...if I look right now, then there won't be any imps running around?"

"Ja," he said smugly, twirling his rusty dagger in his hand. He quickly put it away after he nicked his wrist.

"Okay. Lead the way."

"...say what?" Xan's resolve shattered. However, he regained his posture quickly if there was any hope of preserving the lie.

"Take me to the cave. I want to see this for myself."

"Oh. Didn't understand ya," Xan'Jin said offhandedly as he turned around. As he loped along with Zureetha at his side, he let out a slow, hissing breath. When she saw that all the Vile Familiars (minus three) were still alive and kicking, she would undoubtedly beat him with that staff of hers. He hoped that he could learn how to stealth by the time they reached the cave.

"You're the one that got dragged here last night, aren't you?" Zureetha said, startling Xan'Jin. From the looks of her, he would never have expected her to start a conversation.

"Ja. By me parents."

"That's tough. I guess you don't wanna be here?"

"I woulda signed up sooner or later. Jus' shows ya how much they don't trust me."

Zureetha looked away. "I'm sorry." An awkward silence fell over them, Xan still in shock that she cared to talk to him and Zureetha thinking of some words of comfort. "I guess this is the best thing for you, then. To get out on your own, I mean."

"You be tellin' me! I haven't been dis free since..." Xan pondered for a moment. "Since I was born!"

"Well, to be honest, you're not exactly free..."

"Don' have nobody tossin' seawater on me in da mornin', don' got no chores..."

"You still have your duty to the Horde," Zureetha reminded him warily. Xan'Jin pulled out his rusty knife with a roguish grin that he had been working on. He was close, but it didn't quite have the twist that made a grin roguish. Instead, he just looked like a fool, something Xan'Jin was used to.

"Still better than moppin' floors, eh?" No sooner had he said this than something blue and wiry jumped out from over the next hill and latched onto his face. Xan'Jin was more horrified that it was a Vile Familiar than that it was now preparing to launch a fireball into his face. However, a long black staff caught it in the chest and wrenched it off his head.

The creature grabbed hold of Zureetha's staff, aiming the fireball at its owner. However, the hardy orc merely smiled. Xan'Jin noticed a wave of dark energy rippling up the length of the staff. The Familiar was oblivious. As the energy reached the tip of the staff where the imp was clinging, it exploded out of the dark wood in a bolt of shadow magic. Or, more accurately, it exploded out of the _imp _in a bolt of shadow magic.

Two halves of the creature flopped to the ground, and Zureetha shook the chocolate-shaded blood off her face and arm.

"Uh..." Xan'Jin began, already thinking of an excuse.

"The Burning Blade must be summoning more," Zureetha cut him off, her smile now genuine. Xan'Jin blinked in surprise. Did she just cover for him? To _herself_? With a wink, she walked over the hill and looked down at the cave held by the Burning Blade coven. Xan'Jin did the same, but he was taken aback. Dead Familiars were scattered about, lying decapitated in the sun or smashed against rocks. Several of the blue imps were starting to crawl out of the cave once again, but there were nowhere near as many as when Xan'Jin had taken his first visit.

"...you were telling the truth?" She said in disbelief.

"Nope," he said flatly, deciding that he might as well be honest since it seemed like she was on his side.

"So then..."

"Who did this? No idea, babe."

"You were the last person I sent out here."

"Lucky break for us?"

"I doubt it, but anything's possible." Zureetha bent down and sifted through a dismembered imp. "Looks like an axe did this." She then stood up, and seemed to be thinking. "While we're here, we might as well take care of something else..." With that, she began walking toward the cave, where the new imps seemed to be taking notice of her. Almost casually, she raised her staff in the air and it emitted a nearly invisible ripple. The effect was instant. All the Vile Familiars surrounding her scattered, scrambling across the ground as if they'd seen a ghost.

"Fear..." Zureetha began, turning her head and giving him a sidelong glance. Her visible eye was glowing with an ethereal purple. "...is a powerful weapon. As a rogue, you'll be able to use it even better than I can."

"How's that?" Xan'Jin asked as he caught up to her.

"That was a spell. An illusion. I forced those things to see something that isn't there. You, on the other hand, can turn invisible at will." _Maybe some of us, _Xan'Jin thought bitterly. "There is _nothing _that sentient life fears more than the unknown. With such a weak defense, your only chance at survival is to be unknown. Fear is both your offense and your defense. Remember that."

"Wow..." Xan murmured. "You use that speech a lot?"

"...yeah," Zureetha said bashfully. "You could tell?"

"Nobody says stuff like that on da fly. It was good, but a little forced."

"I'll keep that in mind," she grumbled, blowing away a fel hound with a shadow bolt. "You wanna do any of the work, here?"

"Why? You be takin' good care o' yourself without me."

"That's not the _point._ _You're _in training, not me."

"If you so hot, maybe I should jus' quit now,"

"What, and go back to the parents that dragged you here in your sleep?"

Xan took out the next demon himself.

He was vaguely aware that Zureetha was leading them up a stone walkway, and in no time they were staring at the back of a hunched-over orc. He seemed to be turning something over in his fingers.

"Okay," Zureetha whispered. "That warlock has a Burning Medallion around his neck. We need to get it from him."

Xan'Jin tried his hand at the roguish grin again. Still no luck. "Leave that to me." With a massive amount of concentration, Xan'Jin managed to become invisible. Giving Zureetha a thumbs-up that she didn't see, he began sneaking over to the warlock, who seemed to be muttering sweet nothings to the object in his hands. As he drew closer, he found that the object was the medallion he was looking for.

Xan reached for it tentatively, but the act of trying to take something that was wrapped tightly in the orc's meaty fingers broke his strenuous concentration. As if a cloth was ripped off of him, he became visible again. The warlock let go of the medallion immediately and let it dangle around his neck. With his hands now free, he backhanded the troll rogue into the wall.

Xan managed to leap out of the way before a shadow bolt impacted with his body. He took cover behind a stalagmite while searching frantically for Zureetha. She had disappeared. As soon as he realized this, the rock formation behind him exploded in a wave of dark magic. Xan'Jin darted out into the open, now facing the warlock head-on. _Fear is both your offense and your defense,_ Zureetha had said. _Tha's great, lady, _Xan thought. _I be too scared myself to make him afraid!_

The orc waited, presumably to recharge his mana. Xan'Jin waited, hoping to get in a few more lungfuls of air before dying. He noted sadly that it was pretty crappy air to die with.

Suddenly, a roar cut the silence, and something large and muscular was bounding up the walkway behind Xan. He turned around in time to see a burly orc charging forward, a large battle axe held high. He jumped over the insignificant troll, and with a cry of "DIE, HELLSPAWN!", slashed downward with his axe. Blood spurted into the air, and the smaller orc crumpled to the ground with no more than a yelp of surprise.

"Where the hell did _he_ come from!" Zureetha said, suddenly standing right behind Xan. The troll jumped.

"I could ask you that," he said gruffly.

"This is supposed to be your test, not his!" She grumbled, marching forward to the orc who was now yanking the blood-soaked medallion from the dead warlock. "You! What the hell are you doing here!"

The orc looked up in genuine surprise. "I was helping that poor rogue fight off this attacker."

"He's not supposed to have help! This is a _test_! A test, dammit!"

"He looked like he needed help," the orc said defensively.

"Are you allowed to help people on written tests?" Zureetha asked in a commanding voice.

"Do written tests ever kill you if you fail?" The warrior shot back. Zureetha opened her mouth again, but then shut it when she realized his logic was bulletproof.

"Can I have that, mon?" Xan'Jin asked tentatively. The orc tossed him the medallion absent-mindedly; clearly he was more interested in the argument with Zureetha.

"Look...you're obviously too powerful to be here. Shouldn't you be up at Razor Hill?"

"I wanted to help train the new recruits."

"_You can't train new recruits if you're a recruit yourself!_" Zureetha hissed, her green cheeks flushed and her voice growling.

"I think you're forgetting something more important here. I saved that rogue's life. Don't I get any thanks?"

"Thanks," Xan offered, but the orc ignored him.

"You're also forgetting something important. The whole point of this exercise was to train him! He won't have people like you to save him every time he gets in over his head!"

"So why not help him while we still can?"

"Because if he does this himself, then he won't _need _people like you saving him every time he gets in over his head!" Zureetha was breathless now. The orc offered her a moment to catch a breath before starting again.

"Don't I get a say in dis?" Xan'Jin asked.

"No!" Zureetha said immediately.

"Look, you both be right. Now can we get on with our lives?" He pointed out. Both were silent for a moment, but the orc broke the silence.

"The runt has a point. I shall take my leave," he said formally, then leapt off the ledge and down to the pit of demons. Xan'Jin stepped forward and held out the medallion.

"You don't deserve this," Zureetha growled as she begrudgingly took the blood-spattered trinket. As they made their way back down the walkway, she spoke again. "If that warlock weren't dead, I'd make you do it again. Just so you know."

"Da's what makes it so hilarious," Xan'Jin said jovially.

"I could always give you another trial," she threatened.

"But you can' think of one," he said knowingly. Zureetha said nothing, and instead hung her head in defeat.

"Other people will have ones for you; ones you can't do half-assed."

"I'll try anyway." This time, Xan's roguish grin was perfect.

**End of chapter 2**


	3. Home Again

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 3 - Home Again**

By Genoscythe

Three days had passed, and Xan'Jin _felt _himself growing more awesome by the day. He could now stealth easily (although maintaining it was still a problem), Zureetha had regretfully given him a shiny new dagger and vest, and he had just finished the biggest confidence-booster of his life. Just like the orc that had awoken him on his first day, he had been given a blackjack and a death sentence for any peon caught sleeping on the job.

As he handed the bludgeon back to Foreman Thazz'ril, the grizzly orc nodded approvingly.

"You've added some new dents to this thing. I'm impressed," he said with a hearty laugh. "I think you're done here."

Xan'Jin's face lit up. "Wha's next? Razor Hill?"

Thazz'ril laughed again. "Kid, your next stop is Sen'jin village. From the looks of you, I take it you know how to get there?"

Xan didn't respond. His jaw was too busy hanging limply.

"What?" Thazz'ril questioned, seeing the look of terror flashing across Xan'Jin's face. Then, it suddenly dawned on him. "You must be the guy that got dragged here a few days ago."

"Yes!" Xan practically screamed; he was getting sick of people saying that to him. Suddenly, an idea struck him. "Hey, can I keep dat blackjack?" Foreman Thazz'ril looked as if he had been slapped.

"What! You're kidding, right?" He held the bludgeon tightly to his chest, as if protecting a baby. "I can't live without something to beat people with!" Xan hung his head.

"Figures..." he muttered, taking a look back at the Valley of Trials. It was a miserable looking place, made even more so by the nightmares he had garnered in the past week. He waved to Zureetha Fargaze, who looked the other way. Scanning the valley for any more familiar faces (though he knew he wouldn't find any), he turned around and took a step forward. This single step landed his face into the armpit of an exceptionally large, burly orc. When Xan pulled his head free, he recognized the orc as the one who had 'helped' him in the cave three days ago.

"Hey, it's you!" Xan said needlessly. The orc swiveled his head around to glance at him.

"And you are...?"

"You helped me in da cave three days ago."

"I helped a lot of people in the cave three days ago."

"Remember fightin' wit Zureetha Fargaze?"

"Ah, yes. But you don't look female or orc. Nor do you look like a warlock."

Xan'Jin bit back an insult. He wanted to be on this guy's good side.

"I'm Xan'Jin, master rogue."

"Granik, uh...master warrior." Nodding as if satisfied by the conversation, he turned his head back and began walking out of the valley once more. Xan'Jin held out his hand and caught up.

"Wait. Mebbe we better team up?" He said, hoping it sounded casual enough. Granik stopped, then bellowed out a laugh. He was clutching his sides by the time he stopped.

"...oh. You were serious."

"Ja," Xan said through gritted teeth. Suddenly, the orc turned around and held out his hand.

"Sure. You could use a mighty warrior like me."

Xan'Jin held out his hand as well. "Seriously?" As their handshake became complete, Granik jerked his hand back. He immediately burst into laughter again.

"I'm joking, son. Get on back to the Den. You look like you could use a few more days there." Before Xan could offer any kind of reply at all, he burst off into a run and disappeared around the corner. In shame and anger, Xan slid down to his knees. This wasn't how all the legends had started. But then again, Xan had to remind himself that he _wasn't _a legend, and never could be.

He felt a presence behind him, and a small black piece of wood slid into his hands.

"You need this more than I do," Foreman Thazz'ril whispered.

* * *

Hours later, Xan found himself standing at his parents' doorstep. He knew he could avoid all this, but he wanted the chance to square everything away with his family. He was also hoping to whack his dad with the blackjack a bit.

After several wary knocks, the wooden door scraped open and Xan'Jin's mother was framed in the doorway. A momentary look of shock passed through her face, which was soon replaced by a warm smile. Xan's mother was known for hiding emotions.

"Xan! What a surprise!" She exclaimed cheerily, and behind her Xan could see his father eating at the dinner table. The scarred troll leaned back on his chair to take a better look at his son. The expression on his face was hard.

"Dey kick joo out already?" Rai'Jin said as Xan stepped forward into the room. From behind his back, the blackjack swung out and struck Rai'Jin across the forehead.

"As a matter o' fact, I be here on business," Xan growled. However, his father hadn't taken the blow well. He stood, slamming his fork down on the table. Xan'Jin suddenly realized how much taller and stronger his father was. Instead of a smack on the face, Rai'Jin went into stealth. Xan looked to his mother, who seemed horrified. Rai had never used any of his rogue skills on Xan before.

A moment later, Xan felt an incredible pain shoot up his side. He doubled over, feeling his father re-materialize behind him. The older troll grabbed Xan's shoulder and pulled him back, somehow producing a thin black wire and stretching it over Xan's neck.

"Gimme da stick, son," Rai'Jin's voice said gruffly. Pain still coursing from his kidneys, Xan handed the blackjack to his father. Wasting no time, the old rogue smacked Xan in the back of the head, and the young troll merely grunted. He didn't want his dad to know that it hurt like hell.

With a sigh, Rai'Jin dropped the blackjack and walked back to his place at the table. "What 'business' joo be on?" He questioned harshly.

"I gotta talk to Gadrin 'bout that."

"Das Master Gadrin to joo," Rai'Jin interrupted.

"He never calls _me_ Master," Xan shot back. His father fixed him with a pitying stare.

"Joo not gonna last tree years," he said disdainfully. Xan noticed that his mother had conveniently disappeared.

"Well, I got more important things to do," Xan said with a note of finality. "Be seein' ya." He turned and picked up the blackjack on his way out. As soon as he slammed the door, he cursed himself. That had accomplished nothing, save a bruise on the head. _Oh well, to hell wit' dem, _he realized. _I'll be at Razor Hill by next week._ Deciding to sleep at the inn, Xan turned in early that night. He had no intention of returning to his old haunts.

* * *

Xan'Jin awoke to a torrent of freezing water. However, this morning, he was more shocked than annoyed. He stared up at his father from the inn's straw mattress. "What da...why..." He was so surprised that he couldn't find words to show quite how surprised he was.

"No son o' mine be sleepin' late," Rai'Jin offered as explanation, swinging a bucket in one of his gnarled hands. "I had hoped you made a habit o' it by now, son."

Xan'Jin finally found the right words. "How da hell did you get in here!"

Rai'Jin shrugged. "Innkeeper let me."

"What about..." Xan struggled to point out another absurdity to this scene. "What about da others-" he stopped, as he realized there was nobody else sleeping at the inn. He blinked, trying to clear his thoughts. "You're not gonna keep doin' this the rest of my life, are you?"

"Long as I can. Once you be outta Sen'jin, I can' do noting 'bout it. 'Till den, expect to be wakin' up at six."

"It's only six?" Xan asked furiously. "Don' suppose you're gonna ask me to do chores now, eh?"

"Das Master Gadrin's job," Rai'Jin said with a toothy grin.

"I don' believe this..." Xan murmured, shaking seawater out of his hair. "I thought volunteering would get me away from dis..."

"Not as long as joo be here!" His father exclaimed triumphantly. "Now c'mon. I didn' wake joo up for no reason. Gadrin's waitin'!"

"You mean 'master' Gadrin?" Xan said with a smirk as he fastened his belt. Rai'Jin threw what was left of the water over him.

* * *

After a quick look around the village, Xan found himself standing before Master Gadrin, the chief of Sen'jin. "Oh, it's you..." Gadrin muttered, glancing warily at Xan as he walked up.

"Hey mon," he said casually. "Where be Minshina?" The only face unaccounted for in Xan's trip around the village was Gadrin's brother.

"I'm glad you asked," the tall troll said, though his tone indicated otherwise. "He was taken by Zalazane, the warlock on the Echo Isles to the east. And...he is dead." Xan's jaw dropped.

"Zalazane! Da crazy old fart wit all the skulls?"

"The same," Gadrin continued gravely. "Minshina's spirit was trapped within his own skull by Zalazane's magic. He is being kept with other skulls, in a circle of power on the largest Echo Isle."

"When did this happen?"

Gadrin paused for a moment, too pained to speak. "Last night," he finally said. "We have sent every able-bodied troll in Sen'jin to kill Zalazane and get my brother's skull back, but so far we have met with doom. All our true fighters have left to join the army, so all we have left are children and elders. Except, of course, for your father." Gadrin's voice dripped venom. It was common knowledge that Rai'Jin was both a strong fighter, and an incredibly lazy and dishonorable person. He would make a fine human, as many who knew him would joke.

"You asked him?" Xan questioned, already knowing the answer.

"He told me to swim out there and get the skull back myself."

"Knew it."

"I don't suppose _you'd _mind helping, would you?" Gadrin's voice was accusing.

"O' course. I knew Minshina too, remember?"

"Fine," the village chief said, almost sounding disappointed. "While you're there, slaughter that beast Zalazane and his army of hexed trolls." Xan nodded enthusiastically; until now, Zalazane had most kept to himself, but Xan was never comfortable with the idea of a hostile witch doctor living right next door.

Leaving Master Gadrin, Xan now faced the ocean and the distant Echo Isles. The morning seemed eerily silent, despite the alleged battle taking place across the sea. Xan'Jin took three slow breaths, trying to calm his nerves. People told horrifying tales of Zalazane, the mad witch doctor. Tales of disgusting curses, hexes, and cruel torture at the hands of his mind-controlled army ran through Xan's head with no consideration for his resolve.

If he couldn't face the Burning Blade warlock three days ago, then what chance did he have against the mighty Zalazane? Xan gripped his dagger tightly. _Do dis for Minshina, _he told himself. _More importantly, do dis for your career..._

With a deep breath, he plunged into the ocean. Surf crawlers scuttled out of his way as he knifed through the water. If there was one thing Xan'Jin was good at, it was swimming. He surfaced halfway to the first Echo Isle. However, the sight before him made him stop in his tracks. A huge green form was running across the island, holding two objects in his meaty hands.

"The witch doctor is dead! The village is saved!" A familiar voice echoed across the sea. Xan hung his head. In one of Granik's hands, Zalazane's head hung by his scraggly hair. In the other, a skull that could only be Minshina's rested between massive fingers.

"Once again, stealin' my glory..." Xan muttered, turning dejectedly back toward land. Granik beat him there, and by the time Xan made it back to the village, he was talking with Gadrin.

"I thank you, Granik. And my brother thanks you..." Gadrin said, and Xan could swear he saw a shimmering image of Minshina waving at him.

"Anytime, Master Gadrin!" Granik said dutifully, giving a military salute.

"Ah...yes," Gadrin said, looking uncomfortable. "Now, please leave. We must mourn my brother's passing." Granik broke his salute and ran off down the street. Now, Xan figured it was safe to approach the chief.

"You let an orc help?" Xan cried in disbelief. Gadrin turned sadly to him.

"I had no choice. He overheard me talking to Lar, and just ran off toward the Echo Isles." Xan was glowering with rage.

"How many died before Granik jus' walked in an' killed Zalazane?"

"At least five. Lar Prowltusk and Master Vornal were the last to leave, and they haven't returned yet."

"They'll be fine," Xan reassured him. _We can 'ave Granik to thank for dat._

"Thanks for trying, by the way."

"No consolation prize?"

Gadrin burst into laughter, which suddenly ceased. "No. Besides, you were actually on _speaking _terms with Minshina. Seeing his death avenged must be a reward in itself."

"I guess..." Personally, Xan had been hoping for something a little more material. Say, a pair of gloves.

"Well, I _do _have some spare gloves I could 'loan' you," Gadrin said as he retreated into his tent for a moment. When he returned, he carried a pair of leather gloves. Handing them to Xan, he said, "Make us proud, Xan."

"No promises," the deep blue troll said with his now-perfected roguish grin.

"At least help out a bit when you come back in three years."

Xan scowled. "Don' worry. I make it a habit to be different from my papa." For the first time since seeing him, Gadrin laughed honestly. Pulling on the gloves, Xan turned around and made his way out of the village. He knew there were plenty of other army-sanctioned quests for him to take up, but he was tired of Sen'jin already. Plus, the idea of being woken up again to a bucket of seawater didn't appeal too much to him.


	4. Fizzled Out

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 4 - Fizzled Out**

By Genoscythe

No sooner had Xan'Jin left his former village when a short, sweaty orc ran onto the road. The orc waved his arms at him, apparently in a panic. Xan didn't see any demons or Alliance nearby, so he assumed it was a typical case of overreaction. "Who you be?" Xan asked, trying to maintain his cool.

"I'm Ukor. Please, can you help me?" This guy sounded desperate. Xan nodded. "I have a load of food here. I walked along the road and braved scorpids and spiders and worse!"

Xan'Jin raised an eyebrow, looking down the road. He saw nothing, save for a scared little rabbit being chased by a relatively harmless green snake. "Worse, huh?"

Ukor's head bobbed enthusiastically. "I brought the food to the Valley of Trials because I thought they needed it and I like to help out. But they don't need any food! Now I have to take it back to Razor Hill and I'm afraid of all the beasts along the way..." Xan directed his attention back to the road, where the snake was now being chased by a bloodthirsty rabbit.

"Smart move. Wouldn' want to face all dose horrifying beasts, eh mon?" He said, choking back a snicker. Ukor ignored his cynicism.

Thrusting the bag of food into his hands, he said, "Can you take it for me? I'm just a peon, but you're a hero. You fear nothing!" That was the last straw. Xan'Jin roared into a fit of laughter, grabbing his knee and cackling like a madman.

"H-hero!" He gasped between bouts of laughter. "A hero!" He cried in disbelief. Finally, he managed to straighten up. "Well, I definitely don' fear _that_," he said dryly, pointing down the road. The rabbit sat in the dead center, snake blood dripping from its fur. The snake lay at its feet, mauled almost beyond recognition. Xan blinked in surprise. "_Still _don' fear it," he affirmed, and at that the rabbit bit into the snake's spine, snapping it in half and tossing the tail end off the road.

"T-take it to Innkeeper Grosk at the Razor Hill inn," the peon instructed, his voice quivering in terror. Xan looked at him as if he had just drank a keg of lava.

"_Razor fricking hill_!" Xan roared, outraged. "Dat be ten steps down da road!" He pointed again. "You can _see_ it from here!"

"H-hey..." Ukor stammered. "You saw the bunny. It's not safe."

"You said scorpids. There ain' no scorpids on da road!"

"Well, the trail I took..."

"You be kiddin' me, mon..." Xan began the grueling trek to Razor Hill.

"Be careful!" Ukor called to him, hiding behind a rock.

"Watch me!" Xan yelled back, already halfway there. As he passed the killer rabbit, he kicked it aside. It growled, then hopped into a hole in the ground, presumably to devour more snakes. When Xan crossed the entrance, he looked back at Ukor. "Check it out, mon. I'm safe."

Ukor nodded, feeling emboldened by Xan's success. He took a tentative step out from behind his rock, and when nothing jumped out to attack him, he almost yelped with glee. Xan hung his head.

However, as Ukor passed a hole in the ground, the same rabbit launched out of it. The rodent, now covered in snake blood, latched onto Ukor's head and began biting his bald dome. He cried out, flopping on the ground and trying to shake it off. Xan moved to help, but just then an angry mob of at least five scorpids circled in from all directions and began stabbing the peon with their stingers. Xan grimaced, and turned around just as two giant spider legs burst up from the earth and dragged Ukor down into the red dirt.

Xan'Jin handed the dearly departed peon's load to the innkeeper, and immediately set off for an army commander to get bossed around by. He didn't have to search long, for a short, thick orc bellowed "Rogue! Get over here!" Xan walked leisurely over to the orc standing just outside a bunker. "Orgnil Soulscar. You are?"

"Xan'Jin," Xan said. Orgnil looked him up and down.

"...good enough. Listen, I've been investigating the Burning Blade, and I found that a warlock named Fizzle Darkstorm has camped within Thunder Ridge to the northwest. There, he and his cultist minions spread chaos."

Xan'Jin couldn't believe his ears. "His name's _Fizzle_?"

"Don't take this guy lightly, son. I already sent a group after him earlier this morning, so meet up with them if you can."

"Mebbe they already got him," Xan pointed out, not wanting a repeat of the Zalazane incident. Which reminded him... "Was dere anyone in dat group named Granik? Big, burly orc wit an axe?"

Orgnil laughed. "No, Granik's over there." He pointed, and Xan saw a crowd growing in the middle of Razor Hill. One figure that towered over them all was quite obviously Granik. He had orc women hanging off him (literally, since he was too tall to flirt with easily). "He's been dueling people all morning, and winning every time. I think most of them don't realize that he's purposely challenging the weaker soldiers."

Normally, Xan would've been a little put off by this. However, this meant he actually had a shot at taking down this Fizzle guy. He chuckled again at the name. There was no way someone named Fizzle could be that tough. Now, with Granik out of the way, his victory was almost guaranteed. He took off for Thunder Ridge at a run. However, he skidded to a halt when he saw why it was called Thunder Ridge.

Massive thunder lizards filled the canyon, lumbering about and swishing wickedly spiked tails along the ground. Xan considered his options. He could either risk stealthing through, which would be an insurmountably bad idea since there was virtually no room to maneuver in the canyon. The second option was to actually fight for a change. Xan finally decided on a combination of the two.

Disappearing into nothing, Xan crept toward the first thunder lizard. The beast had its back turned to him, and seemed to be sniffing at a plant on the ground. Xan leapt, clearing its back and landing on top of its head. It roared, and his concentration broke, but not before he slammed his knife into the lizard's neck. The creature thrashed, and he stabbed it again. This time, it keeled over and dumped Xan right in front of the next thunder lizard.

Its horn glowed for a brief second, then a sharp crack filled the air. Xan jumped back, feeling as if he had been burned. The lizard was charging for another bolt of electricity, so Xan leapt forward and struck it on the face. The thunder lizard didn't take kindly to this.

It whipped its head, knocking him into the wall of the canyon. It shocked him again, and he growled in protest. Getting to his feet, he slashed it again. Before it could strike him again, he decided to try out a move he had learned from Rwag. He slashed again, this time spinning around and slashing again. Both attacks hit right where the beast had already been injured. It groaned unhappily, then slid to the ground in defeat.

Xan jovially noted that the canyon widened, and he now had enough room to sneak by. Minutes and several dead thunder lizards later, Xan found an unusual crag cut into the wall. What was unusual about it were all the dead bodies strewn about the front. He took several tentative steps forward, reminding himself what a ridiculous name Fizzle was to calm his nerves. When he was able to see clearly into the crag, he almost laughed out loud.

A goblin, one of the shortest he had ever seen, stood in the midst of an upturned camp. He looked about at the Burning Blade disciples with a withering gaze; at least, it would've been withering if he didn't look so comical. His warlock's robes were several sizes too big, and they pooled around him like a puddle of tar. One of his ears was set higher on his skull than normal, and the other set lower. This alone made his face almost look like a caricature.

Xan noted that there weren't many disciples surrounding him; many of them comprised the dead bodies littering the crag. However, he noticed some horde soldiers mixed in with the Burning Blade. Saying a silent prayer for the dead, he took a step forward. Or, he would've. A hand had seized his vest from behind and pulled him backward into the shadow of a rock. He felt something soft behind him. In fact, two somethings, and they felt an awful lot like...

"Idiot!" A soft feminine voice hissed into his ear. "You were going in alone!" Xan tilted his head back, and found himself staring into a pair of golden eyes.

"Ja." He said indignantly. "The little dude be named Fizzle. What's da worst dat could happen?"

The woman flicked her eyes toward the pile of corpses outside the crag. "That's the worst that could happen. My entire group was killed by that monster." Xan couldn't help but chuckle at the thought.

"And who you be?" Xan asked, twisting around so he could see her clearly. She was a troll, and a pretty one at that. Her blazing red hair was knotted in a ponytail, and errant strands hung down the sides of her soft face. Her tusks were small, curving up and out of her mouth. She was remarkably gentle-looking, and almost seemed more like a human with blue skin and tusks than a troll.

"I'm Alani," she said, her voice as soft as her features (exempting the tusks, of course). "I'm a priestess." Xan'Jin nodded, suddenly understanding why she seemed so gentle. Priestesses were naturally 'cuter' and had a better disposition than normal beings, no matter what race.

"Xan'Jin," Xan said. "Master rogue, at your service."

"Oh? A master, huh?" She said playfully. "Help me kill Fizzle, then." He nodded. "Just fight. I'll keep you safe." Xan'Jin got to his feet. Now _this _was more like it. The hero meets a beautiful young woman, they help each other overcome a daunting obstacle...this was sounding more like one of the legends Xan had admired as a child.

He turned invisible, and began creeping toward the Burning Blade camp. Behind him, he could feel Alani pacing him. He wondered how she knew where he was, but it wasn't important. As long as she could help him, that was enough.

As soon as he stepped into the crag, the two nearest Burning Blade disciples turned to look at him. He wondered why they were looking at him, because he was fairly certain he was invisible. It didn't matter. He turned his thoughts back to Alani and her two somethings. Speaking of Alani, she now cleared her throat in alarm. Xan'Jin tuned back in to the real world to find that every Burning Blade disciple in the camp was staring at him.

_Well, that doesn't make sense... _Xan thought, and he looked down at himself. He was most definitely not invisible. Thinking about Alani must have jogged his concentration, and he suddenly hoped that the young priestess was a lot more skilled in healing arts than she looked.

Fizzle Darkstorm stepped forward, cackling madly. A new addition to the scene was the towering voidwalker that floated resentfully behind the evil warlock. Fizzle didn't seem quite so comical anymore.

"Caught another rat, have we?" The little green man said, in a voice reminiscent of a chain smoker drinking helium. "You all know the drill. Save his soul for me!" At that, three orcs wielding broadswords charged forward. Xan raised his dagger to parry, but their blades never reached him. They bounced away, as if hit by a shield.

_"Hurry! I can't keep it going for long!" _Alani's voice echoed in his head, and Xan took this as his cue to attack. He slashed at all three orcs, only causing minor gashes in their thick hides. They all struck again, but he matched one of their attacks with five of his own, and his smaller attacks were taking their toll on the orcs. Whipping around with an eviscerate move, two orcs fell in gouts of blood. The third Xan kicked into an oncoming foe.

_"Behind you! The shield's down!"_ Xan whipped around and slashed blindly, luckily hitting the orc's jugular vein. He turned back to the enemy he had knocked over earlier. This one was a spellcaster, and he was in the middle of a shadow bolt when Xan leapt at him. He slashed, but the orc dodged it. Moments later, a ball of pitch black energy erupted from his hands and struck Xan in the chest. The rogue nearly doubled over from the impact, and he felt a creeping coldness envelope the area he had been hit in.

Immediately, the coldness ceased, and Xan was surrounded by a bright light. As Xan continued to stab at the warlock, he heard Alani cry out. His thoughts distracted, the warlock smashed him in the head with his staff. Dazed, Xan saw Alani at the mercy of Fizzle's voidwalker. The goblin himself, however, was nowhere to be seen.

As Xan got to his feet, he felt weak. It almost felt as if his soul was being drained from his body. Incidentally, this was exactly what was happening. Fizzle stood just below Xan's field of vision, draining his soul merrily. It didn't take long for Xan to notice him, however. When he did, he kicked out at the small warlock. With a squawk, Fizzle was sent across the camp, landing on top of a tent.

Xan ran at the voidwalker now, who held Alani up by the collar of her dress and repeatedly punched her in the stomach. This only fueled Xan's anger, which sadly did nothing to boost his combat prowess. As soon as he was within range, the voidwalker backhanded him and flung Alani to the ground. Fizzle, his voidwalker, and the orc warlock all converged on the prone troll.

Both Fizzle and the warlock readied shadow bolts, but the warlock was cut down halfway through by a flash of light. Fizzle broke off the spell and turned around to see Alani, dress torn and bleeding, crouched on the ground and beginning another smite spell.

"Helmon, deal with her!" Fizzle barked, but by the time he turned back, he was staring at Xan'Jin's kneecap. The rogue stabbed downward, the knife penetrating Fizzle's skull and sinking into his brain. Helmon looked between Xan and Alani, confused over who should be beaten up first. He never got the chance, for Alani's smite lanced down at him and reduced him to a puff of smoke and black gauntlets.

Xan knelt down to the miniature warlock and sawed his hand off. He figured that would be sufficient proof for Orgnil that Fizzle was dead. Alani hobbled over to him. "Mind if we share that?" She asked, pointing to the bloody claw.

"Baby, we can share anything you want," Xan said, accompanied by his roguish grin. She smiled and sat back against a rock.

"I'd like to, but my husband is too nosy for his own good. It'd be healthier for you if we just-"

"You're _married_!" Xan cried out, his dreams crumbling once again.

"What, you expect me to stay single for long?" She asked coyly, running a hand down her thighs. _Some priestess..._ Xan thought bitterly.

"You be as old as me! Mebbe younger!"

"So much the better," Alani said as she stood again, stretching her arms. Gently, she took Fizzle's gnarled claw out of his astonished hands. "Now, come on. Orgnil's waiting."

**End of chapter 4**


	5. Mission: Not terribly difficult

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 5 - Mission: Not terribly difficult**

By Genoscythe

The next day, Xan'Jin and Alani parted ways. She left for Orgrimmar to meet her husband, and Xan went looking for more work. Neither were too broken-up by their separation. Alani had a better man waiting in Orgrimmar, and the truth about her had left a bad taste in Xan's mouth. Orgnil had, of course, congratulated them on killing such a fierce warlock (all things considering, Xan'Jin couldn't help but chuckle), and was now calling in Xan for any small favor he could think of. It was mid-afternoon, however, when he gave him a less-than-small favor to take care of.

"Talk to Gar'Thok, he knows more about it than I do," Orgnil had said, pointing up to the orc standing inside the bunker. Naturally, Xan talked to Gar'Thok.

"Did you happen to see some castle ruins on your way here, rogue?" Gar'Thok asked. Though he hadn't, for he was too busy laughing at poor, dead Ukor, he knew what ruins Gar'Thok was talking about.

"Tiragarde Keep? I know the place," Xan said. "It's right nex' door to Sen'jin."

"Well, recently, Admiral Proudmoore's reserves have retaken the keep." Gar'Thok shook his head sadly. "These humans show no respect for diplomacy. They're violating the Warchief's pact!" Xan nodded. This was old news to him. "Prove your honor and eliminate the human invaders. Make sure to slay Lieutenant Benedict, their leader."

Xan's eyes narrowed. "Sounds tough."

"It's not terribly difficult," Gar'Thok said with a laugh. "We just need to keep all our men here in case a _real_ human army comes along."

"So you not just lazy?"

Gar'Thok fixed him with a withering stare. "Get going, runt."

Naturally, Xan got going.

It was the work of five minutes to reach the outer walls of Tiragarde Keep, or what was left of it. Humans in billowing green uniforms marched about, looking for any intruders. Fortunately for Xan'Jin, they couldn't see _him_. This time, there was no sexy priestess to distract him. He was perfectly invisible. This would be a cakewalk.

_Das what I thought about da last one..._ he reminded himself, creeping through a massive hole in the wall. He quickly found out that this wouldn't be like the last one. The humans were so blind and self-absorbed that they wouldn't know him coming if he were a hair's length away.

He slipped past the courtyard without any difficulty, but as soon as he stepped through the smashed gates, he came across a different breed of human. A woman in full armor stood at attention to his left. He knew just by looking at her that she would be impossible to sneak by. So, he got as close as he could and stuck his knife between her helmet and her shoulder armor. She dropped without a sound.

Down the hallway, another marine walked back and forth. This would be even easier; now Xan had a clear shot for a backstab. He crept forward, but just as he raised his dagger, the human turned and plowed right into him. Both fixed each other with looks of astonishment, almost forgetting that they were supposed to be fighting.

Xan recovered first. He leapt forward, kicking the marine's sword out of his hands and slashing for his neck. The human ducked his head so that the blade glanced off his helmet. The marine stepped forward and punched Xan in the stomach, sending the wiry troll sprawling down the hall. As the human ran to retrieve his sword, Xan got an idea. He reached up, grabbing a wooden beam overhead and pulling himself into the rafters.

The human ran back into the hall, and immediately began looking for the rogue. He started walking down the hall, assuming Xan had gone into stealth. In some ways, he was right. This was just a different kind of stealth.

As the marine passed under Xan's perch, he dropped from it and attempted to land on the human's shoulders. As one who knows Xan's special blend of incompetence and bad luck, you can guess that he missed. You would be right. However, this didn't matter much in the big scheme of things, for Xan still had a clear shot at the man's neck. He took it, and the armored man slumped to the floor.

Xan looked down the hall. This could take awhile...but then he noticed something. Up where he had been hiding, there was a hole in the ceiling that looked like it led straight into a room several floors above. Xan'Jin smiled, glad that his luck was finally starting to turn around.

* * *

Marek Belheim listened vaguely to the balding lieutenant, concentrating more on catching the eye of the female guard at the door.

"...once Razor Hill gets wind of a paladin here, they'll send all they have at us," Lieutenant Benedict cautioned.

"Naturally," Marek said, whistling in a you're-boring-me fashion.

"Aren't you worried?"

The taller human laughed. "Worried? Why should I be? Razor Hill's full of recruits. They'll be easy pickings." He ran a hand through his long, well-preened golden hair, trying to look as sexy as possible. The guard turned a disgusted eye on him before she returned to simply ignoring him.

"Don't underestimate the savages, Mr. Belheim."

Marek gave Lieutenant Benedict a withering glare. "That's _Sir _Belheim to you, skinhead."

"The last time I checked, you were a freelance mercenary and not a knight."

"Last time I checked, it really hurt to get beat with a hammer!" Marek now hefted his large warhammer over his shoulder menacingly. "If you want my help, better treat me with some respect."

"Isn't –"

"Like respecting my need for some fresh air," the paladin cut him off, stretching his heavily plated arms. Without another word, he strode toward the door. However, his massive silver and gold shoulder armor got caught in the door frame. Benedict couldn't believe that Marek hadn't learned from coming through the door the first time.

The lieutenant leaned back against the wall, wondering why he had bothered hiring a mercenary. Marek Belheim was useless, always disappearing when he was needed most despite the fact that he was both a paladin _and _immensely strong. The man was nigh-indestructible, and he still shied away from doing some dirty work. _Probably doesn't want to mess up his damn hair, _Benedict thought grudgingly.

Something odd interrupted Benedict's thoughts. The woman guarding the door was looking intently at something behind him. She blinked, as if she had seen a mirage.

"What is it, Felicia?" Lieutenant Benedict asked, but before she could answer, he felt the strangest sensation in his neck. It felt like unimaginable pain. He looked down to see a knife point sticking out of his neck, and watched as it retracted. Stumbling back against the wall, he watched as a troll materialized before his eyes, running at Felicia.

The troll's shockingly white hair looked like fire in Benedict's delirious state. It pointed straight backwards, like an arrowhead, and shimmered as he struck at Felicia. She soon fell, and the troll turned to look at him. Across his crimson eyes, a dark stripe had been tattooed to his deep blue skin. As Benedict slipped into the land of the dead, he felt the rogue rummaging through his pockets. His last thoughts were to protect the key nestled inside.

* * *

Marek Belheim, not-so-esteemed paladin formerly employed by the Silver Hand, inhaled the smell of fresh seawater gratefully. The castle was starting to stink like blood. Any right-minded person would wonder why Tiragarde Keep would suddenly begin to smell like a slaughterhouse, but if anyone asked Marek he would probably tell them it was using bad deodorant. Yes, that's the kind of person Marek Belheim is.

Next to him, an old, weather-beaten chest sat next to the ramparts. He wondered madly what was in it, but he couldn't open it. Oh well, it was for the best. Part of his contract dictated that any property damage would be deductible from his pay.

Marek suddenly had an odd feeling, the kind that alerts you when you're being watched. He turned toward what he thought was the source, only to find nothing there. That smell of blood was getting stronger now...

A loud, metallic clink made Marek's head snap to the left. The chest lay there, open and empty. For an instant, Marek saw a troll standing on the edge of the ramparts. Then, with a glance back, it disappeared over the edge. The paladin leaned over, looking down at the ground where he would've landed. Nothing.

Defying his better judgment, Marek planted an armored boot on the wall and jumped off himself. He looked through the ruins, now furious. The troll was nowhere to be seen. A paladin of his strength would've seen through Xan'Jin's stealth trick easily, but Marek was far too narrow-minded for that. Instead, he did the best thing that came to mind.

"Heed this, rogue! If I find you, I'll turn your spine into a comb! I'll make your skull into a cup! I'll _kill _you in ways you don't have words for!"

Naturally, Xan heeded it.

**End of chapter 5**


	6. Argam Stonehoof

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 6 – Argam Stonehoof**

By Genoscythe

It took a grand total of two days for Xan'Jin to complete his work at Razor Hill and go on his way to Orgrimmar. Admiral Proudmoore's orders, which he had pilfered right under that massive paladin's nose, were tucked safely under his arm. According to Gar'Thok, he was supposed to give them to Warchief Thrall's aide, which Xan still refused to believe. He never imagined he would meet the great Warchief in his service to the army, much less so soon.

Looking now on the city of Orgrimmar, Xan'Jin felt something akin to terror. He had imagined a big city, but this was unbelievable. Twin towers seeming to touch the sun, a gate that you could fit thirty kodos through if you were so inclined, and to top it all off there was a large group of people sparring on the red earth before him. All of them made Xan'Jin feel like a helpless toddler.

Making a wide berth around the dueling soldiers, Xan passed under the massive gates. He wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't entering the mouth of some huge wooden monster.

All that was just a teaser for what was to come. If he was in the mouth before, now he was in the belly. A large, bowl-shaped valley lay before him, peppered in buildings, signs, bonfires, and most importantly, an obscene amount of people. They scurried about on the crimson earth, yelling, trading, fighting, dancing. Xan had never imagined there were so many people living on Kalimdor.

Wood, red leather, and spikes were the predominating decorations of the Horde capital. Xan noticed that all the buildings looked nearly identical as he passed quietly through the main streets (if you could call them that). Feeling instantly lost, he slipped through bodies until he was out of the main stream of people. Before him, as if proof of God's existence, stood a map. It was the most beautiful map Xan'Jin had ever seen.

He trudged closer, and was able to read the map more closely. It read:

**The Beautiful and Marvelous City of Orgrimmar!**

Beautiful and marvelous, Xan knew instantly, were goblin words. Therefore, it must be a goblin map. Therefore...

It must be useless. The entire map was a largely unreadable blob of sketches with no labels or directions. As a cruel joke, the words 'You are here' were written in large letters across the entire map. Xan plunged his knife into the sad little piece of parchment angrily, slicing it in half and flinging the two halves in opposite directions. It would take two years before anyone would notice, and then it was only because a wandering tailor found half of the map floating in the wind. The tailor would fashion it into a paper hat, which would save his life one day. But that's a different story...

Finally, Xan simply decided to walk in a given direction until he found the most impressive-looking building in the city. Right now, the large, shaded canyon marked 'The Drag' seemed like a good direction. Xan put a big emphasis on shaded.

He walked through the entrance, and immediately felt cool air grace his unworthy skin. Xan spread out his arms, welcoming the immediate change. Fortunately, the Drag was next to empty. This made the axe flying past his head even more mysterious. Xan froze in place, thinking the Alliance had somehow broken into Orgrimmar. However, he soon got an explanation. A massive, gray, and shaggy tauren emerged from the alley to Xan's right; the alley that the axe had flown out of. This particular tauren's most surprising feature was the single large horn jutting out of his head. The other, it seemed, had been broken off.

"I'm sorry!" The tauren immediately exclaimed, seeing Xan'Jin's look of terror. "I got a little carried away."

"Doin' _what_?" Xan remembered the last time someone had said they got 'a little carried away'.

"Well, you see..." The tauren was having trouble with his words. "I was trying to make a silk dress, and it wasn't working, and I was getting frustrated, and I started hitting it with my axe, and – "

"Got it," Xan cut him off, hoping the tauren wouldn't fall over from lack of oxygen. "...why you be makin' a dress?"

"It's a hobby," the tauren explained nervously.

"You be a warrior. What you need cloth for?"

The tauren shook his braided head. "Actually, I'm a shaman. And I already told you, it's a hobby."

Xan's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. This shaman was wearing thick, red mail armor; he must be a veteran. "Oh. Sorry 'bout dat, sir."

The tauren laughed. "My name's Argam Stonehoof, and there's no need for titles. I'm only a rank ten soldier." Now Xan'Jin's eyes widened even more. The rank system was a way to gauge a soldier's average strength and combat prowess, as a way for lower ranked soldiers to find allies easier. This was an occasion where the rank system quite literally saved lives.

"How you be usin' mail den?" Xan asked, bewildered. Argam lowered his gaze, sucking in his breath and snorting it out through fist-sized nostrils.

"I was born to be a warrior. I have the physique, I have the...talent." Argam's voice became strained as he said this; Xan made a mental note to prod him about it later. "And yet, my family has been producing powerful shamans and hunters for ages. My family wouldn't listen to the class guidance counselor, and trained me to be a shaman." Xan now raised an eyebrow. There were class guidance counselors? In the little village of Sen'jin, sons were just expected to follow in the shoes of their fathers.

"I can't use magic to save my life, I don't know how to fight like a warrior, and my family disowned me."

"'cause of your 'talents'?" Xan asked.

"You're perceptive, little blue man." Argam nodded gravely. "Combat does something to me...it changes me. I lose control of myself. I become a berserker." Xan looked to the axe imbedded in the ground. _I believe it, _he thought. "There was an incident in particular that brought me here. In our culture, our method of training is called the Rites of the Earthmother. It would be a little hard to explain to a foreigner like you – "

"I'll bet," Xan interrupted begrudgingly. Argam continued his sob story undaunted.

"Well, on the final trial, we tauren are supposed to hunt a kodo named Arra'chea. Not only are we supposed to kill it, but we are supposed to bring back its horn."

"Don' sound too hard."

"That wasn't the problem. I killed Arra'chea easily. At least, I think I did. I blacked out. Either way, there weren't enough recognizable parts left of him when I was done."

"So?"

Argam laughed bitterly. "There are a few good reasons why I needed to bring back the horn. First, it proved that I defeated it. Second, it proved that I could show restraint, which I clearly can't. Third, and most important, it is the means for resurrecting Arra'chea."

Now it was Xan'Jin's turn to laugh, more out of shock than anything else. "You broke da horn? No more rites o' da earthperson?"

Argam's eyes narrowed resentfully. "Yes. Cairne Bloodhoof banished me from Thunder Bluff for destroying an age-old ritual and failing the Rites of the _Earthmother_." The tauren pronounced Earthmother very slowly and carefully. Xan'Jin scowled.

"Well, I see you've found someone that's an even bigger loser to group with," an annoyingly familiar voice said from behind. Xan whirled around to face Granik, the massive orc beaming wickedly.

"You be stalkin' me, mon?" Xan growled.

"Only when I need a good laugh, little man."

Before anybody could get any further, Argam stepped forward and pushed Xan'Jin behind him. "What's the problem?" He asked coolly, folding tree trunk-sized arms across his chest. Whether he knew how to fight or not, his presence was still intimidating. He even stood half a foot higher than Granik.

"My problem is..." Granik's eyes suddenly widened. "Night Elf!" He yelled in alarm, pointing behind them. Neither turned around. Granik ran anyway.

"You know this orc?" Argam asked, eyeing Xan warily.

"In a way..." Xan growled in response. "He be right do'. We should stick together, mon."

Argam shook his head. "Very funny."

"I be serious, mon. Long as you don' trow more axes at me."

"...are you sure? When I get into a fight, I don't know what happens to me. I can't guarantee your safety."

"S'okay, mon. Ain' been safein weeks."

Argam chuckled as he heaved his axe out of the ground. "So, what's the plan?" Xan'Jin held out Admiral Proudmoore's orders. Argam scanned them quickly, then bit his lip. He appeared to be in deep thought.

"That doesn't sound good," he finally realized.

"I be takin' dis to da Warchief," Xan explained. He then followed Argam through the Drag, emerging into the harsh sun once more. Xan stumbled, his mouth agape. A huge demon towered over them, gnarled and wicked. Argam continued walking as if nothing was there. When Xan decided that the beast wouldn't be moving for quite some time, he felt this needed to be explained.

"What da hell is dat!" He cried, his voice rising higher than he had hoped.

"That's a tree, carved in the shape of Mannoroth the Pit Lord. I'm sure you've heard of him?"

"Ya, mon. I didn' know he looked like dat do." Xan'Jin eyed the tree warily. It was wearing real armor.

They soon entered the Warchief's chambers, and Xan felt his excitement rising. Down the hall, he could make out the faint silhouette of an armored figure. As they drew closer, Xan felt humbled. Thrall stood in front of his throne; not sitting, standing. With a massive suit of armor and an equally massive hammer in his hands.

The Warchief didn't pay them any heed as they walked into the room, and Xan wondered if this happened on a regular basis. Intimidated by Thrall's thoughtful stare, Xan headed immediately to the orc sitting on his left. What Xan soon found out was that this wasn't an orc at all; it was some sort of wolf-orc hybrid.

"You be Nazgrel?" Xan asked, eyeing the orc's wolf head warily. The orc chuckled.

"Yes, and I know what you're thinking. This is a mask, not my real face." Xan nodded, giving a little 'ohhhh' of understanding. Now that he thought about it, Xan could see the orc's beady black eyes beneath the wolf's fangs. Handing the rolled up scroll to Nazgrel, Xan took a step back. Wolf-man or not, he was still scary as hell.

Nazgrel looked through it in seconds, then tore the scroll in half and tossed it into a nearby brazier. Xan was startled, so Nazgrel said, "I have memorized it. I will notify the Warchief immediately." Surprisingly, this is exactly what he did. Thrall nodded as his advisor whispered in his ear, and finally he turned his gaze on Xan'Jin and Argam.

"Ah, young rogue. I may have a mission for you." Xan stepped closer. "It will take you into the heart of corruption in our city, and I fear Ragefire Chasm as well. Are you prepared to do your duty to the Horde?" Xan looked to Argam, who was violently shaking his head. Argam probably knew more about this Ragefire Chasm than Xan did, but how could one resist an offer from Warchief Thrall?

It was really quite easy.

**End of Chapter 6**

AN: Yes, this will eventually have a plot. Actually, more like mini-plots (usually one for each area, and one for each character). It's also much more than a story about Durotar. If everything goes according to plan, Argam and Xan will be at the Barrens by the next chapter.


	7. The Guns of Northwatch, part 1

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 7 – The Guns of Northwatch, part 1**

By Genoscythe

It didn't take long for Xan'Jin and Argam Stonehoof to adapt to each other. Xan got free rides on Argam's back, and Argam got someone that wasn't imaginary to talk to. He wasn't sure if Xan actually listened, but it was the principle of the matter that counted.

After declining the Warchief's offer, Argam suggested they move on to the Barrens; a place Xan had only heard of in horror stories. He found out why. The place was dull, boring, mindless, hot, boring, mindless, and dull. A week after working with the Crossroads outpost, Xan was convinced the Barrens was hell on Azeroth. The Barrens was hell, and Sergra Darkthorn was Satan.

The details of that week will remain a secret, simply because they were dull, boring, and mindless details. The first truly interesting thing happened on the second week, when Xan was sitting atop a palm tree eating lunch. While this doesn't sound truly interesting, it was what was happening below him that mattered. He and Argam had been given an assignment by Tonga Runetotem to investigate some sort of mutant turtles, and he had taken a temporary break from slaughtering the hapless animals.

Xan pulled a waiting apple out of his right tusk and prepared to bite down when he heard a sickening crunch from below, followed by a string of Taurahe that could only be swearing. The white-haired troll waited approximately fifteen seconds for Argam's rage to cool off before he hopped down from the palm tree and took stock of the damages.

Argam Stonehoof was hunched over a limp form, his shoulders heaving and air pumping out of his nostrils like a steam engine. Noting that he was fine, Xan now looked at the turtle he had caught. It was cleaved in half, shell and all.

"Proud of ya, mon," Xan commented as he picked at the dead animal. It was an odd shade of blue, and had a strange haze in its eyes. "We got enough shell dis time."

Argam looked disconsolately at the trail of dead turtles behind them. All were smashed to bits. "We're just lucky this one didn't put up much of a struggle." Xan, with a little more effort than he would've liked, pulled off half of the creature's shell and flipped it over in his hands.

"Hey mon..." Xan began, looking intently at the underside of the turtle shell. "These things supposed to be all glowy?" He turned the shell over in his hands, and it struck the light. A flash of rainbow struck at Argam's eyeballs, but in a second it was gone. The hulking tauren shook his head.

"They're not supposed to be blue either."

"What's dis mean?"

"It means we take it back to Master Runetotem."

Xan looked stricken. "ALL da way back to da Crossroads? You know how _far away _dat is?"

"You make it sound like we haven't done it a million times already."

"I don' care to do it anymore."

Argam sighed. "Need a ride?"

Xan sighed. "Too much work."

Argam sighed again. "Have it your way." The next instant, Xan was struck by the shaft of his axe and carried into the air, where Argam laid the weapon on his shoulder. Xan found himself slung over Argam's back like a knapsack. He found that it wasn't all that bad, once he caught his breath again. "How was that?"

"Great...mon..." Xan coughed. Thus began the slow trek back to the Crossroads. Once again excluding the details of said trek, the travel-beaten pair found themselves in front of the commanding tauren who had sent them across hell in the first place.

"Here is the shell sample you requested, Master Runetotem," Argam said politely as Xan slipped off of his axe. Tonga Runetotem took the shell from Argam's meaty fist, and looked at it intently.

At length, he said, "This is most troubling. I'd like you to take this to Mura Runetotem, a relative of mine."

Xan perked up. "You kiddin', mon. I been Sergra's errand boy all week. Why can' you jus' figure dis out yourself?"

"I'm afraid I don't have the knowledge to understand exactly what this it. However, I do have an idea..."

"What is it, master?" Argam cut in before Xan could say something disrespectful.

"It's possible these creatures have been tainted by the Wailing Caverns. If that's the case, I'd like you to see Hamuul Runetotem. He should be able to formulate a plan for stopping this taint from spreading."

Xan scowled. He'd heard enough about the Wailing Caverns to know that he never wanted to go there. "We better take dis to Mura. Don' wanna make no rash decisions." Argam nodded in agreement.

"I would agree. She is currently helping our Forsaken allies at the Sepulcher."

Xan blinked, hoping he hadn't heard correctly. "Isn't dat...on the Eastern Continent?"

"It is, young troll." The tauren nodded sagely.

"You be freakin' crazy! Tonga, I been walkin' circles around dis place all week. Don' think I'll survive goin' all da way across da world..."

"Call him 'master'!" Argam whispered reproachfully.

"He's not mine," Xan shot back quietly.

"Well, you _could _always attempt to infiltrate the Wailing Caverns and uncover this mystery yourselves," Tonga said with a knowing smile. Xan cursed him out in Trollish.

"Don' expect us to do dis right away."

"Why not?" Tonga asked. Argam gave him a look that wordlessly asked the same thing.

"We got stuff to do."

"Like what?" Both the tauren asked simultaneously.

"Like..." Xan thought for a moment. Then, behind Tonga's tent, he saw a path. "Ratchet. We be headin' to Ratchet tomorrow."

Tonga raised a bushy eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"Ah, yeah. Sergra wanted us to pick up some more beer," Xan said, thinking quickly. He was quite pleased with himself.

Apparently, so was Tonga. He chuckled, saying, "I can believe that." Xan was immensely relieved. "However, this mission is vitally important. If we don't stop this taint soon, we may all be consumed." Now the troll was confused.

"If we be all you got to stop dis taint, you may wanna say your goodbyes," he said with a chuckle. Tonga wasn't amused.

"He may have a point," Argam said, the first words he'd spoken aloud since things had gotten ugly.

Tonga turned to glare at the shorter tauren. "I think I know what I'm talking about, young shaman. If a scrawny troll knew better than me about the Barrens, then I would have been out of a job long ago."

"No, I mean..." Argam fumbled with his words, taken aback that Tonga would suddenly become so fierce. "You may want to alert more people of this matter. Depending on the two of us is not only a bad decision, but less efficient in general. You should probably send some soldiers to Master Hamuul..."

"I'll make the decisions here!" Tonga bellowed. "And I decide...I should find another group to speak with Hamuul."

"Good man," Argam said, clapping him on the shoulder. He knew it would be pointless to argue over whose idea it really was. Leaving him no chance to call them back, Argam pulled Xan away and behind a dormant catapult. "What was all that about Ratchet?" He asked immediately.

"I'd rather walk to Ratchet five times den go to Lordaeron," Xan explained.

Argam gave him a stern look. "Do you have any idea what's on the Merchant Coast?" Xan shook his head. "Pirates. Bootleggers. Thieves. Worse."

"Worse?" Xan remembered that a few weeks ago, 'worse' had been a bloodthirsty rabbit. He decided that the threat level had risen considerably since then.

"Goblins," Argam said with a shudder. Xan almost laughed.

"Wa's so bad abou' goblins?"

"They're cheaters and liars! They can't see anything but profits! Nothing is sacred to them, not even the land! I'll bet they're raping the Earthmother as we speak!" Argam's eyes took on that slightly off-set look that alerted Xan of an imminent rage. "Monsters! The Earthmother will make them pay!" His bellowing silenced nearby conversations, and he was drawing an uncomfortable amount of stares. However, his frenzy was in full swing now.

With a warcry that wasn't entirely unlike a vicious moo, Argam unsheathed his axe and slammed it into the catapult. The wheels snapped, and the wooden contraption crashed to the ground. Now, the entire town was silent.

With a nervous look around, Xan grabbed Argam's wrist and led him to the inn. The inn that just happened to be on the other side of town, on the other side of all the astonished onlookers.

* * *

"See? Not dat bad," Xan'Jin insisted, taking a sip from his mug. Argam nodded in what he hoped was the right direction. Xan had blindfolded him before they entered the tavern at Ratchet due to the goblin innkeeper, and now the tauren was nodding at a provocative photo of a female goblin on the wall.

"If I take off this blindfold, would I lose it?" Argam asked out of curiosity, fumbling for his mug.

"Mos' definitely, mon."

"Oh, good." Their conversation ended at that. Argam had suggested they start looking for work, but Xan had suggested they start looking for a drink and some shade. As always, Xan's argument won out.

"Hey boys, you gonna start a tab, or what?" The innkeeper screeched. Argam began humming to himself.

"Nah. We jus' be stoppin' by, mon," Xan said.

"Stay any longer, and I'll be charging you by the minute!" The innkeeper growled, wiping down the same wooden mug he had been wiping down ten minutes earlier when they had first entered.

"Give us a break, mon." Argam's whistling was now beginning to drown out the conversation.

A moment of silence passed. Then, "Alright, time's up. Either start paying or get out."

"What? We been here ten minutes, if dat!"

"Time is money, friend." The goblin waddled closer, now halfway across the room. "You're wasting an awful lot of time."

"Whose time?"

"The customers! Other people want a seat, ya know."

Xan looked about. There wasn't a soul in the tavern. However, as if on cue, a worn looking figure stepped through the entrance and pulled back a chair across from Xan and Argam. Immediately, the innkeeper made a beeline for the newcomer, who Xan noted distastefully was a Blood Elf.

"Brightsun! My man!" The innkeeper cried smugly as soon as he was within arm's length of the shady elf. The newcomer dug through a pocket and dumped several coins into the innkeeper's hand.

"Just take these and shut up," the elf named Brightsun muttered in a gruff voice. Or, as gruff as an elf's voice could get. It still sounded like silk compared to Xan'Jin's voice.

"You're the boss," the innkeeper cackled, turning around and standing in the midst of all the tables. He was still polishing the same mug. "What's got you down today, captain?"

"I thought you Goblins spoke the universal language," Captain Brightsun growled, throwing another small handful of coins at the innkeeper.

"I'm just makin' conversation, is all. But really, what is it?"

"To hell with it..." Xan heard the elf mutter under his breath. "Another one of my ships was lost to those overzealous humans at Northwatch Hold."

"What's the damage?" The goblin asked immediately. _Figures._

"A shipment of boots for Gazlowe, a couple shipments of saw blades, three boxes of shovels, four talking parrots, a shredder, and ten crates of troll porn." Xan gasped. _Those bastards!_

"Those bastards must be dealt with," Captain Brightsun continued. "Their paranoia has them in a frenzy. Trigger happy, reckless louts'll shoot at anything in their sights!" The elf suddenly turned around, looking Xan in the eyes. "Interested?"

Xan blinked in surprise. Suddenly the conversation had shifted from the elf and the goblin to the elf and him. "Uh..."

"Of course. Travel south along the Merchant Coast and lay siege to the Hold. Bring me the medals of their soldiers as proof. And for the love of my fleet, slay Captain Fairmount and her overzealous cannoneers!"

Xan arched an eyebrow. "You been rehearsin' dat?"

Captain Brightsun hung his head. "So you noticed too..."

"How many people you asked before us?"

"At least three groups. All of 'em dead."

Xan gulped. "Well...lemme ask my partner, here..." He was trying badly to stall for time. "You hear dat?" Xan asked, leaning over the table toward his tauren friend.

"Hear what?" Argam stopped whistling long enough to respond.

"We may got a job," Xan whispered.

"What is it?" Xan briefly described what Captain Brightsun had just told him. Argam scowled.

"I'll make it worth your while," the elf called, and Xan damned those massive ears and sharp eyes.

"Alright," Xan said, completely going against his better judgment. "We'll do it."

Captain Brightsun gave the patented Elvin Arrogant Smirk, and they shook hands. Later that night, both Xan and Captain Brightsun washed those same hands like they were infested with the plague.

**End of Chapter 7**

AN: Sorry this one's a bit short and a bit cliffhangerific, but the assault on Northwatch Hold is gonna be pretty long and I wanted to get the setup out of the way.

Next up: Zuridan Fargaze!


	8. The Guns of Northwatch, part 2

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 8 – The Guns of Northwatch, part 2**

By Genoscythe

AN: The troll porn's actually an inside joke. One of my friends has a troll priest, and we've decided that Fear is really just troll porn (that's why it works so well).

PS: I lied about Zuridan. He'll come along later (I decided it's too soon to be adding more new characters).

* * *

The next day, Xan'Jin and Argam set out early, as they were hoping to get to Northwatch Hold before the pirates woke up. As it turned out, the Southsea Freebooters had spent the entire night emptying their alcohol stockpiles, and the half that weren't dead from alcohol poisoning wouldn't be waking up any time soon. 

For the first stretch of coastline, they stepped cautiously over the pirates. However, after witnessing some kind of swimming lizard reach out and drag a sleeping pirate into the water without him waking up, they were fairly confident that they would get through unnoticed. Xan was even bold enough to pickpocket a few of them, one being a gaudily-dressed man with a black beard and a sleeping parrot next to him.

Northwatch Hold loomed before them, and they both stopped in awe and fear. However, Xan was distracted by the sight of a ship sailing along the coast to their left. The flag dangling atop the mast displayed the same symbol as Captain Brightsun's tabard. That could only mean one thing...

_More porn! _Xan realized happily. Now he was determined to take down these humans. If not for himself, then for all the trolls of the Horde.

* * *

Captain Fairmount chuckled as another helpless ship came into view. She leaned over Cannoneer Smythe's shoulder to get a better look at the boat. Definitely Horde sympathizers. 

"Orders, miss?" Smythe asked, nearly drooling.

"Same orders as always," Fairmount said with a grin. "Blow the ever-loving crap out of it."

"Hey, Vanessa..." That annoying paladin spoke up, poking her in the shoulder. "That doesn't look like any Horde ship I've ever seen."

She rounded on him. "Try living on the coast of Kalimdor for two years, then tell me what _is _and what _isn't _a Horde ship!" The paladin gave her a mock-hurt expression.

"Calm down, babe. Maybe you need to see my 'hammer of justice' again?" He said, his overly-silky voice like a cheese grater on her soul.

Captain Fairmount blushed. "If you don't shut up, I'll show you what you can do with your 'hammer of justice'!"

The paladin blinked in confusion. "Was that a threat, or a turn-on?" Fairmount slapped him, and was about to do worse when Smythe interrupted them.

"Miss? Should I fire, or not?"

"Don't listen to this idiot! Order stands!"

"You know...I think I've seen that flag before. Pretty sure that's one of Thalo'thas Brightsun's ships."

"Fire! As long as it's going to Ratchet, it's bad!" Smythe lined up the ship in his cannon's sights, and fired. A cannonball rocketed out of the gun, seemed to hover in the air as if deciding where to fall, then plummeted straight into the cargo ship's gunpowder stockpiles. Smythe grinned hungrily as the ship went up in flames, scattering wood bits and cargo into the air. The paladin was already dragging Fairmount away.

When they were outside the tower, Fairmount wrenched her arm free from the paladin. "What is it, Marek? What'd I do now?"

"Baby, I got kicked out of the Silver Hand, and even _I_ think that was stupid! You just shot down a freelance cargo ship. _Brightsun's _freelance cargo ship. I know this guy, and he doesn't take stuff like that lying down."

Fairmount laughed. "Come on, Marek. What's he gonna do?"

Right on cue, a distant explosion filled the air. It definitely wasn't coming from the cannoneers.

* * *

Xan stood in shock as shredded bits of troll pornography flitted through the air, blown from the burning ship by ocean winds. _Not again! Dis means war! _

Deciding to test out a trick he had picked up at the Crossroads, Xan pulled out a stick of dynamite. He hurled it at the bulky wooden gate, and it smacked dully against the surface. It dropped to the ground with an unimpressive thud.

"Aren't you supposed to, uh..." Argam began, struggling with his words again. He muttered incoherently for a moment, stomped in a circle, even pulled out a tuft of hair before he realized what he was trying to say. "...light it?"

Xan blinked, thinking back to the instructions the trainer had told him. He _had _mentioned something about wicks, but at the time Xan thought he had said something dirty.

"I tink you be right, mon. Gimme some rope." Argam looked about, as if expecting rope to be lying magically at their feet. He was disappointed. As a substitute, he handed Xan the ball of hair he had torn out. Cringing, the troll scooped up the dynamite and shoved the hairs into one end, molding the wood pulp so the hairs were inside it.

After an amusing fiasco with matches, the dynamite was thrown. This time, it exploded in mid-air, blasting the gate loose from its hinges and causing it to crash forward. The two guards were so surprised at the failure of their bulletproof security system that they barely noticed the two Horde soldiers standing on their doorstep. Xan ran forward, but suddenly thought better of it as he noticed Argam next to him. The tauren 'shaman' was tearing up the ground, swinging his axe at invisible enemies and almost taking off one of Xan's tusks. The rogue wisely hung back as Argam smashed into the two marines. He swung blindly at one, and only his heavy armor prevented him from being completely cleaved in half. The other stabbed with his suddenly tiny-looking sword, which caught in Argam's mail armor and refused to either hurt the tauren or return to its master.

Argam brought the butt of his axe down on the human's head, denting in the man's helmet and most likely his brain as well. Another marine was charging from the courtyard, but he was knocked aside when Argam kicked one of the dead humans at him.

Xan grabbed at a floating page of burnt pornography as humans were flung left and right. After several failed attempts, he caught the edge and watched in horror as the piece of parchment disintegrated into ash. He looked around for more debris, but nothing except a few embers dotted the sky.

Xan heard the battle dying down, and he started forward. However, he stopped himself. Argam was still dangerous. He waited a few seconds, and a roar resounded from the courtyard to his right. Argam's axe flew across the entrance, disappearing behind the left wall. He heard a horse whinny in pain, and drop to the ground. Tentatively, Xan crept forward and looked through the entrance.

The courtyard was scattered with torn human bodies, and to the left Xan saw a stable with a very bloody axe and a very decapitated horse lying inside. Argam sat in the middle of the courtyard, recovering from the adrenaline rush.

"Where's my axe?" Argam asked, looking around as if seeing the courtyard for the first time. Xan pointed to the stable and the two halves of the horse. Argam looked stricken.

"Relax, mon. Jus' a human's horse," Xan reasoned, retrieving the axe for him. Argam took it in trembling hands. When he tried to stand, he wobbled uncertainly and fell back onto his tail.

"I'm...tired..." the tauren muttered, blinking as if to will his body to stay awake.

"You should be, mon." Xan whistled at Argam's handiwork. "Res' up. When you can, take out dem cannoneers."

"What about you? You're not trying to be the hero, are you?" Argam asked, sensing what Xan was up to.

The troll gave a bitter laugh. "Tried dat, mon. 'Hero' jus' don' work for me." Waiting a moment for dramatic effect, Xan vanished into thin air.

* * *

"I told you, let the marines handle it," Marek Belheim crooned, dragging Vanessa Fairmount back into the darkness of the tool shed. She shook him off while fumbling for the latch on her breastplate. 

"Stupid, stupid..." She muttered, running for the tower. Down the hill, Marek could hear the sounds of a raging battle. With Marek's vast intellectual powers, he concluded that there must be at least twenty powerful Horde soldiers in the courtyard. Why else would there be so many human screams of agony?

Silently cursing that he wouldn't have any more time with Captain Fairmount, Marek began his daring escape. He was halfway to the wall when he realized that he left his warhammer behind. Running back, he noticed that the sounds of battle had ceased. That hardly mattered, as Marek always had his hearthstone tucked safely in his pocket. Of course, he didn't know how the Silver Hand would react if he suddenly appeared at their doorstep, but it had to be better than facing down twenty deadly Horde warriors.

Grabbing his hammer, he spun around just as the feeling hit him. The same, indescribable feeling of being watched that had hit him at Tiragarde Keep. Just before...

"It's you!" He cried, spying a surprised-looking troll standing by the tower doorway. The troll, finding his cover blown, lost his camouflage and drew his dagger. A bead of sweat ran down his sharp features as he eyed the towering paladin. He yelled something in orcish, his voice wavering. A grin spread across Marek's face; this one was a runt.

He charged forward, swinging his warhammer and catching the rogue in the side. The white-haired troll was flung into the wall, bouncing off and rolling along the ground. Marek readied his hammer again, but a bellowing cry stalled his efforts.

"Xan!" A deep voice roared from behind. Marek frowned and craned his head back, eyes widening as a two-handed axe plunged into his side. He could feel the cold, sharp steel of the blade on his shirt, but his plate armor had effectively stopped it from chopping his beautiful body in half.

The new attacker wrenched his axe free, and swung it again. This time, Marek brought up his hammer and parried the blow easily. However, out of the corner of his eye he spotted the troll getting to his feet. Thinking only of his visage and what would happen if he were accidentally cut, he cast a Divine Shield over his heavily armored body and pulled out his hearthstone.

Calling on its power, he laughed as the Horde soldiers vainly tried to attack him. From the looks of things, he could probably kill them both in two more strokes. However, the risks for his beauty were just too great. He would have to fulfill his promise to the rogue later.

* * *

Xan swore as the paladin melted into an unhealthy-looking green light. 

"He had us...Why'd he run?" He asked, bewildered.

"Who knows what the pinkskins are thinking?" Argam said, still breathing heavily.

"I seen dat guy before..." Xan muttered, looking about. The castle almost seemed deserted. "Alright. Better get to work, mon." With that, they parted ways. Xan moved toward the large tower to their left, and Argam pretended to move for the two gun turrets on the east and west sides of the Hold. However, when Xan was out of sight, he ducked behind a wagon and instantly fell asleep.

* * *

Vanessa Fairmount leaned against the wall of her tower, twirling her hammer around by the ring on its pommel. It was bad enough accepting help from an old flame, but when that old flame happens to be Marek Belheim, well...she couldn't have gotten much worse. However, he had several traits going for him. 

First off, he was ridiculously strong, putting any one of her soldiers (herself included) to shame. Second, he was a bit cheaper than the average mercenary as long as his employer was a woman. Third, there was little chance of him ripping her off, because if he ever decided to skip out on her, he was too stupid to remember to take the money with him.

Fairmount sighed, realizing that he had probably already run away. However, she had his pay tucked safely in her pocket. She slipped a hand into her pants just to be sure. A moment later, her eyes nearly exploded out of their sockets. "He couldn't have..." She felt again, just to be sure. Nothing except amassive lint ball and a sentient piece of taffy named Alphonse.

"That bastard..." She muttered, temporarily forgetting the rogue sneaking up the stairway. He was trying hard to conceal himself with a stealth spell, but Vanessa's trained eyes saw straight through it. Her only concern was how long he would take before she could beat the life out of him. But now, she had forgotten about him completely. Her only thoughts were centered on the loss of her purse.

_No wonder Marek dragged me into the tool shed after that explosion. Here I thought he was after something else in my pants..._ It was completely unlike him. Marek was an inept fool, a man whom the citizens of Stormwind once marked as mentally retarded. Vanessa knew he wasn't retarded, but that he was just too narcissistic to bother with the rest of the world.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present when she saw one of her soldiers go down with a bloody thump. In the time she had forgotten about the rogue, he had made his way to the top floor. Now, he eyed her hungrily, and she tried to look like she hadn't noticed him. He crept forward, gripping his dagger so tightly that the bones on his knuckles stuck out. She waited patiently, trying not to look in his direction for fear of laughing.

Finally, he was within her range. Still pretending not to notice him, she swung her hammer and cracked it against his skull. His illusion scattered and he was sent sprawling to the floor, both dazed and confused. Vanessa Fairmount grinned wickedly, pulling out a pair of handcuffs she kept on her belt for special occasions and slapping them on the groaning troll's wrists.

She waited for him to reopen his eyes, at which point she slammed him against the wall. "Who sent you?" She barked, caring more about the thrill of interrogation rather than getting any real answers.

The troll muttered something in orcish, his eyes wide and terrified. Vanessa cursed, realizing she should have thought about the language barrier beforehand. Now, she had a helpless prisoner and nothing to do with him. _Looks like it's time to get creative...

* * *

_

Argam awoke with the sun low on the horizon. He began a monstrous yawn, but covered his mouth when he remembered where he was. With this realization came the question of how long he had fallen asleep, and why Xan hadn't come back for him yet. Sitting back, he shook his head. Sometimes that helped him clear his thoughts.

The question now was where to find Xan. It was mid-afternoon when they had first broken into the castle, and now it was twilight. By now, either Xan had killed all the humans or all the humans had killed Xan. This train of thought didn't bring Argam any closer to an idea, so he decided to relax and wait for fate to drop him a hint.

In the midst of a world-shattering philosophical debate between the tauren and a rotten piece of cheese on the ground, Argam got his hint. He had been reeling from the cheese's latest rebuttal, looking about for a comeback, when he noticed the barrels inside the nearby wagon. They were a pretty red color with white letters painted sloppily on the side. Argam bet the cheese that he could have painted those letters better, and the cheese accepted.

However, it was the letters themselves that had caught his eye. TNT. Argam could swear that he had seen that word before, but the meaning escaped him. Then, the cheese reminded him that TNT stood for trinitrotoluene, and that it was a crystalline, highly explosive compound used mainly to blow things to pieces.

"Now think, young Stonehoof. Is there anything here you would like to blow to pieces?" The cheese asked sagely. Argam scratched his shaggy head.

"I dunno...maybe a few things."

"Well, I suggest you start by destroying this entire castle. Xan'Jin has quite obviously failed, and it is your duty as the survivor to carry out the whims of the deceased. Now, listen as I tell you what to do with the trinitrotoluene."

* * *

Xan was fading in and out of consciousness, but he tried to keep himself out. Whenever he faded in things only got painful. However, there was a point at which he could no longer keep himself unconscious, so he groaned and shoved his eyes open. What he saw astonished him. He was in a dungeon, bare except for the stairs on the far wall and an elf chained to the ground on his right. The human, Captain Fairmount, was sitting before him, dressed in a disturbing spiked leather outfit and sharpening what appeared to be hedge clippers. When she saw that he was awake, she got to her feet and whipped out the clippers. 

She said something in Common, and Xan wondered why she bothered trying to communicate with him. With a mad glint in her eyes, she took a step forward and raised the clippers toward his lengthy tusks. He moaned in protest, shaking his head violently. He hoped she could at least understand that.

Captain Fairmount merely laughed a deranged laugh and slammed the hedge clippers down on Xan's right tusk. He ground his teeth together as the steel bit into the bone, but the pressure abruptly ceased as a loud bang echoed through the dungeon. Both Xan and Fairmount turned to the source of the ruckus, and found a barrel of TNT lying at the bottom of the stairwell.

"Simpleton!" Argam yelled, his voice deeper and more commanding than usual. "You could have set off the Trinitrotoluene!"

"I'm sorry!" Argam's voice had changed, and it was now the soft, submissive tone he normally carried. "I'll be careful with the next one, cheese-man."

"Damn right you will," the gruff voice scolded. Xan squeezed his eyes shut. _I be surrounded by freakin' lunatics._ Captain Fairmount screamed Common at the stairwell, and a sudden clatter of hooves followed it. The female took off, grabbing a whip from her belt as she did so. Xan was now alone with the seemingly dead elf, and he swung dejectedly on his chains.

"Always look on the bright side of life," the elf murmured as if singing a song, and Xan turned a skeptical eye on him.

"There ain' no bright side, mon. Jus' look at'cha self."

"I try not to..." The elf groaned, lifting his head and looking Xan in the eyes. Typical elf pretty-boy. "Not anymore, anyway. I used to be a sailor for Thalo'thas Brightsun, but that crazy bitch Fairmount blew my ship out of the water. I was unlucky enough to survive, and it was either get caught by them or the Freebooters. Wish I had gone for the Freebooters. Then I could at least be around other seamen."

Xan coughed once to clear the uncomfortable silence that followed, but it didn't do much good. Now seriously questioning the elf's sexuality, Xan tried to swing himself farther away from him. It did nothing but cause him to dangle for a bit.

After an eternity of waiting in agony, there was a thump and Captain Fairmount's head rested at the foot of the stairs, leaning against the barrel of TNT. Moments later, Argam appeared as well, carrying two crimson barrels and a massive grin on his face. After setting the barrels at key structural points that Xan could only guess how Argam knew about, the tauren swung his axe through the troll's chains and dropped him to the floor.

"Where da hell you been, mon?" Xan asked, rubbing his sore shoulders and checking for his weapons. Somehow, the crazy woman had missed his dagger and equipment.

"I've been trying to blow this place up," Argam said, still grinning. "All the other towers are set to go, and now we're done with this one."

Xan blinked, amazed that Argam could formulate such a mildly intelligent plan. They began walking up the spiral stairs, leaving a cold and lonely elf sailor chained to the floor.

"So...how we doin' dis?" They were now outside the tower, standing in the cold night.

"Well, we light the TNT, and then we run for it."

"...how we be lightin' it? I don' see a fuse."

Argam's grin shattered. "Ah...huh. Well...The cheese and I didn't get that far yet."

Xan opened his mouth to ask why his partner kept talking about cheese, but he decided there were more pressing matters at hand. "Any more brigh' ideas, mon?"

Argam shrugged. "That's usually your department."

Xan looked up and down the hill. "I still can' believe no reinforcements showed up."

Argam shrugged again. "They're scared?"

Xan allowed himself a quick laugh before re-composing himself. "Doubt it, mon. We betta blow dis place, jus' in case we missed anyone." He suddenly had a brainstorm. "Gimme a torch." Argam pulled a stick wrapped in oiled cloth out of his backpack, and after another amusing fiasco with matches, it was lit. Looking down the stairs and judging his aim, Xan tossed it back into the tower and ran, yelling for Argam to do likewise.

The tauren held his breath, the troll bolted down the hill, and the elf in the dungeon sighed as the torch arced toward the first barrel of TNT. It clattered to a halt right beside the elf, missing the barrel entirely. With a groan, the elf picked up the torch. "I don't have anything better to do today..." With that, he tossed the torch at the TNT, and the crimson barrel exploded immediately.

For one awe-inspiring moment, the entire tower seemed to be airborne. Then, the split-second image passed and the stone building crashed to the earth, splitting at the seams and sending chunks of rock falling down the hill. A TNT barrel just outside the tower lit up as well, igniting another barrel in a domino effect until the second and third tower were blown into dust. Argam and Xan stood at the gates, watching the spectacle in awe.

"Xan?" Argam spoke tenderly.

"Yes, mon?" Xan responded, equally humbled.

"I like fire."

**End of chapter 8**

AN: YES, that's actually what TNT stands for! Too bad I had to look it up to find out...


	9. Freebooted

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 9 – Freebooted**

By Genoscythe

AN: Oh yeah, Marek's gonna be coming back again, and again, and again, and again. Just like a real paladin!

* * *

Amazingly, the Southsea Freebooters were still incapacitated. This made the weary trip back to Ratchet deliciously easy, and the two beaten Horde soldiers felt they deserved it. They also felt they deserved a huge, wild party once they returned to the goblin town. They got their party, but huge came to mean one additional person (Captain Brightsun), and wild came to mean an unhealthy amount of alcohol. 

They awoke to find Thalo'thas Brightsun dead from alcohol poisoning. To Xan's extreme horror, the innkeeper had picked the man's pockets before he had gotten a chance to.

"Our reward..." Xan muttered listlessly, staring at the limp elf sprawled half-naked on a table. A crude smiley-face was drawn on his belly in lipstick, and Xan got to wondering how Brightsun had found lipstick. Besides all the imaginary ones, there weren't any women at the tavern all night.

"All dis fightin', and we got noting to show fo' it..." He murmured, trying to sound as hopeless as possibly. Behind him, he could hear grunting and occasionally a loud thump. "We gonna be broke pretty soon, mon. Wha'chu wanna do?" Another thump, and a growl from Argam. "You listenin', mon? We're in trouble, here."

He could hear Argam muttering to himself inaudibly, which usually meant the tauren was trying to figure out a simple problem that required a bit of common sense. The solution was another thunderous impact.

"...what da hell you _doin'_ mon?" Xan asked, craning his head around. Argam Stonehoof was leaning against a mountain of gigantic beer kegs, puffing and gasping for air.

"Liquor..." Argam spoke between huffs. "...for the trip."

Xan was almost speechless. "Wha...why...?"

"We need it," Argam said, and his tone was meant to silence the matter. However, Xan'Jin cannot be silenced.

"No, we don'!" He practically cried, trying not to yell too loud in respect to his splitting headache.

"Yes!" Argam nearly bellowed; he too was nursing a hangover. "We do!"

Xan raised an eyebrow. "_That _much?"

"I'll carry it myself if I have to!" Argam had the glint in his eyes, but he looked too worn to continue into a fit of rage as per usual. Now Xan was starting to understand.

"You neva had booze before, have ya?"

As if to prove him wrong, Argam grabbed a nearby mug and took a swig. Then, his eyes focused strangely on the mug and his voice deepened into the confident, commanding voice Xan had heard in Northwatch Hold.

"You don't have to answer that," he said, causing Xan to blink in surprise. Argam flung his shaggy head back toward his troll companion.

"The mug says I don't have to answer that,"

"So I heard."

Argam gasped. He turned to the mug. "You liar!"

"Just take another drink, fool." With an indifferent shrug, Argam took another long swig, draining the already half-empty mug. As soon as it emptied, he tossed the mug aside and turned back to the pile of kegs he had amassed in the center of the inn.

"I'll need your help with this, Xan," Argam's commanding alter-ego said coldly, staring hard at the alcohol barrels.

"How? We ain' takin' dat much wit' us, no matter what ya do." Xan decided he might as well cooperate, and ask his partner about the sudden change later.

Argam scratched his shaggy beard. "...perhaps not. The fool bought more than we could possibly carry. Give me a moment." With this, Argam clomped off to find the innkeeper. However, at this notion came the realization that Argam had taken their money bag to buy his liquor. Xan didn't want to think about how much the booze had cost them, much less how many silver pieces he dropped or lost on the way.

_We gotta get some money..._ Xan thought for the hundredth time that morning. This is only a slight exaggeration.

"You buy it, now you want to sell it back. I'm never gonna understand the Tauren."

"Then we can at least agree to disagree." Voices were now trailing back to Xan'Jin's seat at a table, and already he was impressed with the change Argam had undergone. "You understand that we can't possibly carry more than two barrels though, am I right?"

"You can carry more if you buy one of my wagons," the goblin's voice had suddenly perked up at the whiff of a profit. Xan snorted. If there was one race on Azeroth that fit a stereotype, it was the goblins.

"That would be too expensive. We're on a tight budget, and-"

"Look, don't worry about it. I've got the best deals anywhere! Name your price, and I promise we can negotiate!"

"That's...not very reassuring."

"Come on. You know you want the booze."

"You have a point, unfortunately...the more ethanol I have, the longer I can keep control."

Xan didn't even bother with being confused anymore.

"How much would one of these wagons sell for?"

"Fifty silver, and that's a steal."

"Twenty-five."

"Thirty!"

"Twenty-six."

"Twenty-eight!"

"Fifty."

"...what?"

"Ten."

The goblin was already in the process of celebrating as Argam said 'ten', and as soon as he did so the goblin cried "Deal!"

Argam smiled wryly and dumped ten silver into the innkeeper's hands, who gawked at him for only a moment. "Hey, hey, pal. It doesn't work like that."

"Why not? I believe you closed the deal."

"Yeah, right. That only works in cheap stories, buddy. I'll settle at thirty, and you should be glad after trying to pull a stunt like that."

Argam shook his head, now standing next to the mountain of alcohol. "I understand." He jabbed his meaty hand into the money bag again, fishing around and counting the coins he found. Suddenly, his face slackened. He cast a glance at Xan'Jin, before looking back at the innkeeper. "We only have ten silver left."

"Figures..." Xan muttered, not surprised at all.

The goblin merely looked on complacently. "Alright, you really want all that booze?" Xan shook his head. Argam nodded. "I got somethin' that might interest ya." With that, he disappeared behind the counter, reappearing with a weathered piece of parchment. On it was printed a photo of a strikingly familiar human, with the words WANTED hanging over him like a guillotine.

The memories clicked, and Xan got to his feet. The man was one of the pirates that he had pick pocketed on the way to Northwatch. Xan cursed, realizing the bounty had been at his mercy only a day ago.

"The reward's a full gold. If you have any hope of both paying me and keeping your dignity in this town, then this is it."

Xan looked Argam in the eyes, silently trying to tell him to forget the booze. The tauren merely nodded and took the wanted poster from the goblin's greed-encrusted fingers.

* * *

Xan was gaping, his jaw unhinged and lifeless. Not only were the Freebooters awake, but there seemed to be twice as many of them as before. At first, he thought it was simply because they were all asleep or dead the night before. Then, the truth smacked him like a burning tuna fish. A sleek black boat sat against the rocks of the Merchant Coast, where there definitely hadn't been one before. Standing imposingly at its stern, or what Xan thought was called the stern, was Baron Longshore, complete with a beautiful pirate hat and shoulder-mounted parrot. 

Xan was in love. He stared at Baron Longshore's hat without shame, at the elegant curves on the brim and soft velvet skin. It was needlessly huge, but even so Xan feared it wouldn't fit on him thanks to his hair. It was still worth a try. He wanted that hat and no pirate, demon, or god could stop him from getting it.

Argam surveyed the rocky beach at their feet, probably planning the best point of attack. At Xan's behest, the tauren had packed a flask of beer to keep his alter-ego in control. However, as Xan looked at his companion, he realized the alternate Argam wasn't nearly as smart as he seemed.

"You forgot your axe, mon."

Argam cast him a disdainful look. "An axe is only an unnecessary distraction. I need concentration."

Xan blinked. His entire battle plan revolved around sitting back and watching the tauren fly into a destructive rage. Now, without the axe and without the rage, how were they supposed to win?

The answer came in the form of a condensed ball of lightning. Argam flung out his palms, as if pushing at an invisible barrier, and electricity leapt from his fingers. The individual bolts wound together like a ball of yarn, and they soon launched themselves at the nearest pirate. He cried out, jerking and falling backward with sparks shooting from the metal pieces of his armor.

Naturally, other pirates noticed this. Three of them charged, and Argam turned his palms toward the foremost one. He flew back, as if hit with a massive invisible hammer, and left a trail of green magic residue in his wake. Argam now turned his palms to the ground, whereupon a small totem seemed to mold itself out of the rock.

Xan felt an odd feeling washing over him, and he saw a greenish glow envelope his partner. The other pirates reached him, and swung with their swords. The blades scraped off his skin as if it were made of stone, and Argam punched one in the face. He backhanded the other, just as he was attempting to flee. With all five pirates dead or unconscious, Argam dusted off his hands and let the totem crumble into dust.

"Feel free to step in at _any _time," Argam scolded dryly, looking at Xan. The troll, humbled by the display of power, pulled forth his dagger. "I'll draw their attention. You sneak ahead and eliminate Baron Longshore." Xan gave an affirmative nod, then melted into the scenery. He might as well have stayed visible, for none of the pirates would have noticed him anyway.

Argam charged into the middle of the clearing, and began summoning fiery red totems all around him. Besides attracting the attention of all the pirates in the area, Xan recognized the totems. However, if they were what he thought they were, then it would be impossible for Argam to summon so many.

They were what he thought they were. When all the pirates were within range, every one of the five totems Argam had created exploded in a wave of fire. Conveniently, the flames shied away from their maker, and the tauren stood calmly amid a storm of fire. The pirates that hadn't been incinerated on impact were running about madly, not noticing the big, cool ocean sitting right next to them.

However, this display of power came with a price. Argam soon collapsed face-first into the dust, as limp as a rag doll. Xan winced, realizing that he would have to go in without backup.

Grabbing hold of a loose plank, Xan began scaling the side of the black ship. It wasn't especially tall, but Xan had never been the best climber, thus lengthening the maneuver by a good five minutes. When he finally managed to swing himself over onto the deck, he was staring at the exposed back of Baron Longshore. Xan grinned; finally he had a lucky shot.

Xan crept toward the pirate leader on silent feet, but somehow his parrot became alert of his presence. Its head swiveled unnervingly on its neck, staring at him with surprising depth. However, Xan didn't have long to admire the unique bird. It squawked in alarm, and Baron Longshore whipped about. Xan stabbed, but the pirate deflected his attack easily.

Longshore returned the attack, and Xan was forced to duck. As effective as this was for dodging a sword, it did nothing to stop the pirate's foot from smashing into his face. Xan skidded across the deck, until he came to rest at the railing. Seeing the baron charge out of the corner of his eye, Xan did the only thing he could think of. He flipped backward, clearing the railing and landing in the shallow water below.

A splash next to him confirmed his fears: Baron Longshore was not afraid of heights. The scruffy human got to his feet, and surprisingly the parrot remained on his shoulder. Xan could swear the bird scowled at him, but it was only for a moment. Then, Longshore was stabbing at him again, and Xan had far more realistic things to worry about.

Their fight carried them onto dry land, and Baron Longshore showed no signs of tiring. In fact, he didn't show signs of...anything. His eyes were vacant and unfocused, his attacks held no emotion. Finally, Xan accidentally stabbed Longshore's wrist during a botched parry. The human dropped his sword, and Xan wasted no time in putting his dagger into the man's gut.

Longshore was dead, and Xan was quick to claim his prize. He grabbed the brim of the pirate's red hat and nestled it on his own head, surprised at how comfortably it fit. The inside was spacious enough to house his arrowhead-shaped hair, and it was tall enough to look natural on a troll's skull.

However, Xan's victory was soon turned to shock and horror, emotions that Xan was getting sick of using.

"Now you've done it, you fool!" The parrot said, in nearly flawless orcish. Xan had heard of a parrot speaking common, but orcish was considered to be too complex.

"You...can talk orcish?" Xan said in disbelief.

"I should. I've lived on Draenor for ages," the parrot replied, still sitting on Longshore's shoulder even as the man lay dead on the ground. "At least, until that damn Legion started opening up rifts in space. Now I need to use inbred meatbags like Baron Longshore just to stay alive."

"...you do who to the what now?"

"Watch, blue man." At this, a previously hidden cable protruding from the back of the parrot's neck reared out of its feathers. Xan traced this cable all the way back to the base of Baron Longshore's skull. The parrot gave a yank, and the organic cable came free with a sickening squelch.

The strange, very un-parrot-like appendage slithered back into the parrot's feathers, and the bird detached itself from Longshore's shoulder. On his shirt, there were large imprints of the bird's talons. "Now, thanks to you, I need a new host. I think you can figure out where this is going..."

Longshore's parrot flew at him, faster than Xan thought possible. He slapped it away, drawing his dagger and jabbing threateningly at the vicious bird. "Chill, mon. You can get betta den me. I know a paladin you could..."

"Quiet!" The parrot shrieked, darting forward and circling above his head. "We will rise on this planet, just as we did on Draenor! So far, I am the only one...but there will be more! More, I tell you!" Occasionally, the demonic parrot would dive and attempt to land on Xan's shoulder, but the troll made sure to keep moving. "The seas will run red with the blood of-" the beast's words ended abruptly in a gargle as it impaled itself on Xan's knife, too absorbed in its own speech to watch where it was flying.

Xan grimaced as he pushed it off his blade, and as soon as it hit the ground it exploded in a blast of dark magic. Xan stared at the spot, where not even a magical burn was left in the ground. No evidence. Of course.

Xan looked to his unconscious partner, and shook his head. It would be best to leave that part of the battle out of his explanation.

* * *

Xan'Jin and Argam returned that night with the baron's head and several pocketfuls of stolen silver. Without a word, they passed the head on to the innkeeper and tumbled to the floor in exhaustion. More accurately, Xan tumbled to the floor in exhaustion. Argam simply tumbled to the floor because he liked sleeping. 

In the morning, they awoke to find a wagon sitting outside the inn piled high with beer kegs. To Argam, it was like waking up on Christmas. To Xan, it was like waking up with a hangover.

"You _are _gonna pull dat, righ' mon?" Xan asked dubiously, worried that he would somehow get roped into helping with the load.

"Yeah, sure," Argam replied absent-mindedly, sitting on his tail in the center of the tavern and gazing at the beer kegs hungrily.

"Okay, _now _can we leave? Tirisfal be soundin' better an' better da longer we stay here."

Argam simply nodded.

"See ya around, mon!" Xan called to the innkeeper.

"About damn time!" Was the disembodied reply.

**End of Chapter 9**


	10. Zuridan Fargaze

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 10 – Zuridan Fargaze**

By Genoscythe

Xan was mightily pleased with his new hat, and it almost made all the nightmares he had garnered from Ratchet bearable. Every time he passed a fellow soldier, they could do naught but stare in captivation at his red velvet hat. Almost instantly, his luck turned around. His duties to the Horde were many and great, his fame spreading across Kalimdor as the "Red Death".

After an astounding ten-year campaign around Azeroth, Xan returned to the Merchant Coast and took up retirement as a sailor. His ship was made of plundered diamonds, and was crewed entirely by women of all races. All races except dwarves, gnomes, and orcs, of course.

A bump in the road snapped Xan'Jin back to reality. This brought with it the unsettling realization that he had gone blind. The navy blue troll shot up, previously nestled between two beer kegs, and clutched at his face. With a sigh of relief, he pulled away his hat and found that he wasn't, in fact, blind.

Argam Stonehoof, who was pulling the wagon forth with one meaty hand, looked back at him. "Good, you're awake. Can I have a drink?"

"No way, mon," Xan replied, shoving the hat back down onto his head. "You gotta stay sharp." He was actually afraid that the smart Argam would revolt and make Xan pull the wagon, and thus he kept the alcohol safely out of his partner's reach.

"I don't see why we're carrying all this around if I don't get to drink any of it..." Argam muttered.

"You can have plenty when we get in a fight." Xan decided it was safe to say 'when' instead of 'if', knowing their luck. He checked their surroundings, and noted contentedly that they were almost to Durotar. With that, he pulled the hat back over his eyes and slept once more. However, this time his dreams were full of bondage queens, parasitic parrots, and most importantly, that paladin. Wherever that hearthstone had taken him, Xan hoped he was suffering there.

* * *

"I...am speechless," Sir Gadwyn said, staring long and hard at the blonde man kneeling before him. "You violated every code in our book, including most of Stormwind's laws. And now, because of a little scuffle with Horde soldiers, you come crawling back to us expecting sympathy?" 

"I thought you were speechless..." Marek Belheim grumbled, trying not to speak too loudly.

"And _I _thought we confiscated your hearthstone!" Gadwyn exclaimed, taking a step closer. "Tell me, Marek. What did you hope to get out of us?"

"Look, I needed a place to hide. How was I supposed to fight off thirty of those scum?"

"You told me twenty last time."

"Hey, you know I get confused sometimes. I forget stuff easily."

"Like how you forgot who the Archbishop's daughter was?"

"That was only once."

"That was three times, and either way I find your story highly suspect. Where did this happen?"

"Northwatch Hold, on the Merchant Coast."

"Coast of _what_?"

"Kalimdor. Remember, I'm not allowed into Alliance territory?"

Sir Gadwyn laughed mirthlessly. "Kalimdor is a training ground for Horde recruits. Even if there were twenty of them, you could have easily won."

"I panicked. Aren't humans allowed to panic?"

"Men of the Silver Hand aren't," Gadwyn said accusingly. "Oh, but I forgot. You _aren't _a man of the Silver Hand."

Marek growled. "Just because I can't hide my tracks as well as you can doesn't mean you can talk to me like this. How many times were _you _with the Archbishop's daughter?"

Sir Gadwyn snorted. "Nonsense."

"What about torturing prisoners of war? I thought that was your specialty."

Gadwyn said nothing, opting instead to take three intimidating steps forward. He was almost at arm's length to Marek.

"Or that Forsaken ambassador, you remember him? You didn't even let him get through the gates."

Gadwyn scoffed now. "You're saying you wouldn't have done any of those things?"

"No," Marek replied with a wicked grin. "I'm just pointing out all the things you've gotten away with, whereas I..."

"Always get caught," Gadwyn finished. "Alright, the penalty for returning to Stormwind after banishment is death, but I'll see if I can bump it down to Double Secret Banishment."

"Thanks, pal."

"I'd just like to know how you're still alive," he scoffed, turning about in oversized plate boots and striding down the hall.

* * *

Argam Stonehoof wheezed, yanking the wagon another few feet. Orgrimmar loomed ahead of them, almost tauntingly. Xan was still asleep on the back of the wagon, and had been ever since entering Durotar. This left Argam alone to solve the problem of getting to the Eastern Continent. Overhead, a zeppelin buzzed with the words "To Undercity" emblazoned on its side. 

_A city under _what? Argam thought skeptically, watching the fascinating flying machine dock at a tower, pick up more passengers, and head east across the ocean. Argam couldn't fathom where it was going.

With a few more hard pulls, he was standing inside the entrance tunnel to Orgrimmar. Leaning over the wagon, he gently poked Xan in the ribs. He heard something snap, and winced as Xan woke up screaming. He scratched his head in wonder as the troll clutched his side. He hadn't poked him that hard, had he?

"Drink...it..." Xan choked, tossing a wineskin to Argam. Fumbling with the lid, he took a long swig that drained half the sack. With a flicker of his eyes, he could feel the mana flowing through his body, previously dammed by stupidity. Sighing inwardly, he cast a healing wave over Xan. His partner immediately stopped squirming, and managed to sit back.

"Hey, mon?"

"What is it, Xan?"

"Don' eva touch me again." With a scowl, Xan slid off the side of the wagon. "I got a date wit da rogue trainer. Where you gonna be?"

"I'll be lightening our load," Argam replied, glancing quickly at their stockpile of beer. Xan wondered if the dumb Argam had already taken control again, but he supposed the love of booze was universal. He made off toward the Drag, hoping he could find some direction toward the rogue trainer from there.

After begging several passersby for information, one finally answered him. "Talk to a guard. They have to answer any question you ask," A massive tauren said, before lumbering off on his kodo mount. Xan did just that, and the guard pointed him to an ominous-looking crag in the wall. He stepped toward it tentatively, eyeing the massive dragon ribs draped over the entrance like fangs.

As he crossed into the ethereal darkness, a supernatural gust of wind blew the dirt at his feet. He stumbled, unable to find his way. It was as if someone had blotted out every light on Azeroth. More than once, he began to question what civilized people would be doing in a place like this.

Xan must have turned a corner, for then an eerie blue-flamed torch came into view ahead. It just barely illuminated the wall behind it, on which was clawed the words "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." _I'll keep dat in mind... _Xan mused, becoming increasingly skeptical of the guard who had given him directions.

He made sure to keep the torch in his sight. As creepy as it was, it was the only source of light in the tunnel. Xan kept going, and with a surge of warmth noticed a glimmering light around the corner ahead. His joy was crushed as something small and rough skittered past his legs. He leapt back, just in time to see the emerald flames of an imp dance through the blackness and down into the crag. Sucking in the scrap of courage that he was proud to own, Xan ran the rest of the way.

He emerged from blackness into a lesser blackness; there was enough light to see by, but there was an inky dark quality hanging in the air that cast everything in a deep purple light. Down a stone ramp, Xan could see a pair of orcs practicing an occult ritual in the dead center of the cavern. All around them, huts adorned with skulls and menacing doodads filled up the empty spaces. Only one building seemed to belong to the rogues, and it was more of an alcove than a real building.

The imp that had startled Xan earlier was now hiding behind an animal bone, staring at the two orcs hungrily. Xan didn't like the look in its eyes, but he quickly told himself not to get involved with warlock affairs and walked past it. Just as quickly, he realized this was a very bad mistake.

A fireball soared just over his shoulder, coming dangerously close to his hat, and seemed intent on hitting the younger of the two orc warlocks. The orc, who held a book in his hand, saw the fireball just before it hit. He threw up the book in defense, and the leather-bound tome erupted into black flames. Xan could swear he saw a pair of ghosts fleeing the burning pages, but Xan swears he can see a lot of things.

The older orc shouted something in a demonic tongue, and thrust out his hand. Xan immediately doubled over, his stomach having transformed into a washing machine for his organs.

"Sorry!" The older orc cried out, shifting his palm so it was now pointed at the imp behind Xan. At another string of utter nonsense, the imp doubled over in much the same way as Xan. Unlike Xan, who was starting to feel marginally better, the imp promptly exploded. Xan crawled toward them, preparing to demand an explanation as soon as his guts became dislodged from his throat.

When the agonizing curse finally subsided, Xan choked out a simple question that he was very good at asking. "What da hell was dat?"

The younger orc stepped forward, now looking strikingly familiar. "I'm sorry, you must have been in the way of-"

"Not dat..." Xan groaned, wobbling to his feet. "Da imp. What'd it attack for?"

The younger orc eyed the older one nervously. "It's a long story..."

"Young Zuridan is having difficulty controlling his minions," the older one put in before the younger could do anything about it. Xan looked back at the smoking pile of imp-bits.

"Dat was _your _imp?" He asked skeptically.

"In many respects, Zorqua is his own master," the warlock trainer explained. "You see..."

"Teacher!" Zuridan cut in. "I don't need you explaining my problem to every soldier that comes by."

"Patience, Zuridan," the trainer said calmly. "You see, there was a mistake in the pact with the young master's first imp summoning. Zorqua was bound to him, but the pact was never completed. It doesn't have to obey his commands."

Xan eyed the thin orc warily. Saying he was a thin orc did not, by any means, incline that he was simply thin. A thin orc was still three times as thick as a troll. "Wait...so if it don' obey ya, then why's it attacking?"

"When bound, a demon is sealed in a small dimension much like a holding cell. It cannot leave except when summoned by the caster, or..."

"Or what?" Xan asked impatiently.

"Somehow, Zorqua has managed to summon _himself_ on occasion. We were just trying to find out how when you came by."

"That's not the worst of it," Zuridan said, breaking his silence. "My voidwalker's the same way. He's five times stronger, seven times smarter, and four times as determined to be free."

Xan raised an eyebrow. "You actually figured dat out?"

"We were hoping it would help us learn how they keep summoning themselves."

Xan decided that sometimes it was best not to comment.

"The only bright side is that Helmon cannot summon himself unless Zuridan is in possession of a soul shard," the warlock trainer said optimistically, continuing to call the demons by their names. The name Helmon sparked something in Xan's memory, and he soon caught hold of it. _"Helmon, deal with her!"_ were Fizzle Darkstorm's parting words. Xan gulped, realizing that this voidwalker could be more dangerous than he already sounded.

"Could you take Zuridan with you, wherever you may be going?" The teacher suddenly asked, his underlying tone desperate.

"Wha...why?"

"Teacher!" Zuridan snapped.

"There are demonic tomes out there that could help us free these minions. Besides, the world is a dangerous enemy to face alone. We've been searching for a partner to help Zuridan along, but everyone's been too afraid of his 'friends' to risk it." _Can' imagine why..._

"My skills with black magic notwithstanding," Zuridan put in.

Xan thought for a moment. Argam was a laugh and all, but considering how frequently he fell asleep/unconscious during battle, it could only be a good idea to have an extra soldier to pick up the slack whenever that would inevitably happen. And Xan was always keen on the idea of having someone fight his battles for him.

"I don' see why not, mon."

Zuridan gave him a fang-laced smile. "Zuridan Fargaze. Trust me, I'll make up for all the trouble I'm surely gonna cause."

"Xan'Jin, master..." He trailed off in the middle of his patented introductory phrase, now placing the resemblance. "You're related to Zureetha!" He exclaimed, not sure if he should be overjoyed or terrified. This was the way he had constantly felt when he had been around Zureetha.

"Her brother in name only..." Zuridan muttered. "I trust you had a miserable time with her at the Valley?"

"Wors' time o' my life, mon," Xan said with a smirk. "Lemme check in wit da rogue trainer. You can look for my partner, he's a big, crazy tauren. Likes to talk to himself." At this, Xan gave a mock salute and walked between Zuridan and his teacher, stepping through their summoning circle and leaving two huge footprints in the wet pig's blood.

Xan felt himself subconsciously shrinking back the closer he got to the rogue trainer. He was a squat orc, chewing on a knife as if it were a toothpick. Everything about him looked deadly. Xan could now see that the orc wore two belts, and both had a dagger holstered on each hip. He had no idea what anyone would need five knives for, but he prayed that it had nothing to do with his training.

**End of Chapter 10**


	11. Dazed and Confused

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 11 – Dazed and Confused**

By Genoscythe

AN: There's more where that came from, Gan. As for who they are and what's wrong with them, you'll find out soon enough.

* * *

Zuridan Fargaze wasn't quite sure how Xan expected him to find their tauren partner with such a vague description, but as he stepped out into the Valley of Strength, it became painfully obvious. An ashen-gray tauren with shaggy black hair and crimson mail armor appeared to be dancing in front of the bank. However, this dance involved swinging a two-handed axe around over his head and shouting obscenities in Taurahe. Two wooden beer mugs were speared on his unbroken horn, and one was dangling from his axe by the handle. 

Zuridan prayed this wasn't their partner. However, the words 'big', 'crazy', and 'talks to himself' all applied. Before he made it halfway down the slope, a trio of guards converged on the tauren and grabbed the axe from his hands. The tauren gave an enraged moo and flung himself at the nearest guard, who sidestepped and brought the haft of his own axe down on the shaman's head.

Not sure what to do as the guards hauled off a dangerous weapon and an unconscious tauren that so happened to be one of his new teammates, Zuridan looked about for some divine intervention. As usual, he was disappointed.

* * *

Xan was pleasantly surprised by the rogue trainer's sunny demeanor. After explaining himself, Xan was given a list of techniques to train in. This brought with it a slight confusion, but the kind smile sitting on the orc's rugged features swept away all misgivings. 

"Can' I jus' do it all?" Xan asked, handing back the scroll.

"Of course, if you can pay for it."

Xan's smile cracked. "I gotta _pay _for dis?"

The trainer's smile kept on shining. "Naturally. If I were to teach you everything on that list, it would cost you..." he paused to make the calculations. "Five gold, at the least."

The Cleft of Shadows seemed to drop in temperature just then. "I don' _have _five gold."

All at once, the rogue trainer's mood did an about-face. His smile flipped around, his hands gripped two of the daggers at his hips, and his eyes seemed to light on fire. "Then pick ones you _can _pay for! It's common sense, damn it!"

Xan hastily took the scroll back and looked down the list. His own eyes lit up when he saw the words "dual-wield" near the bottom of the list. Fifty silver. "I'll take dat," he said hastily.

The trainer seemed smug. "Ah, perfect. This is a fun one."

Xan felt sweat break out on his brow. What was fun for someone else was invariably _not _fun for him.

"Now, for your first task..." The trainer put a meaty fist to his chin, as if in contemplation. "You must travel to the herbalist and buy us some tea. Thistle tea, preferably."

"What's dat got to – "

"Xan'Jin..." The orc intercepted him, his tone becoming sagely. "That has _everything _to do with your training."

"Da herbalist be ten steps down da road. Why can' you buy it yourself?"

"Just get my damn tea."

* * *

Trailing the guards was neither the smartest nor the most well-conceived plan Zuridan had ever hatched, but in the end it paid off. On the bright side, he had found the hidden Orgrimmar Penitentiary. On the darker side, he had no idea where he was or how to leave. He guessed they were on the opposite side of the mountain that served as the Horde capital's backbone, as they had been walking up a narrow corkscrew pathway until the sun was at their backs. 

From behind a barely-concealing rock, Zuridan watched the guards dump their payload at the mouth of a cave. The cavern must have been at an incline, for the tauren soon slipped down into darkness. The guards turned about lazily, and Zuridan immediately flung out a hand in preparation for an Immolate spell. However, he soon realized what it would be like explaining to the guards why he tried to light them on fire, so he lowered his hand again.

To Zuridan's surprise, the guards gave him a slight nod as they trudged by. Either the location of the penitentiary wasn't as big a secret as he thought, or they were just mind-bogglingly apathetic. Knowing the guards of Orgrimmar, Zuridan had to assume the latter.

Sucking in a breath, Zuridan crept to the entrance of the cave. He could just barely make out stairs beneath his feet, so he decided to trust in faith and began descending. Much like the Cleft of Shadows, the quality of the air changed instantaneously. The darkness seemed impenetrable, the overwhelming stench of hopelessness weighing down the atmosphere. There was no doubt that this was a prison.

Zuridan caught the slightest glimpse of a retreating form in the darkness beyond, but he was halted by the sudden appearance of the jailer. He was a very odd-looking orc; unusually short and knobby, with glittering crimson eyes and thick jaws.

"Oi! What youz be in for?" The jailer bellowed immediately in an unfamiliar accent.

"Ah...I..." Zuridan stuttered, caught off-guard by the pervading weirdness of the situation. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. He's a big tauren, just got hauled in here."

"Da big boy?" The orc asked, jerking his thumb backward. " 'E'z propty of da Orgrmmar Penitentry. Nuthin' youz can do 'bout it, mate."

"I'm sure there is," Zuridan replied in a calm, convincing tone. "I am Zuridan Fargaze."

"Youz tinkin' youz one a da big shotz, eh?" The orc grunted repeatedly, sounding almost like a laugh. "Well I neva heard o' ya. Get lost!"

"How about Zureetha Fargaze?" Zuridan attempted with a grimace.

The orc's eyes immediately lit up. "Mummy! Yea, I heard o' 'er. She taugh' us how ta torture people but good."

"Knew it..." Zuridan muttered. Aloud, he said "Well, I'm her brother. Will you let me in now?"

The orc let out a hacking cough. "Mebbe. Whyz you need ta see 'im?"

"I was hoping to release him."

Another grunting laugh. "Gotta wait till da boyz is done wit him."

"...who?"

"We'z got da right to all da torture we can handle."

"All _you _can handle? What about the prisoners?"

"What _about_ 'em?" The orc replied fiendishly. "I'll let ya trough, but just cuz you know Mummy. You can take yer tauren boy when Gimpy's done wit 'im."

Zuridan decided not to ask about Gimpy. Instead, he opted to hurry past the disturbing orc and through the gate behind him. As he rushed through the dank corridor, he noticed that none of the cells contained living organisms. They showed signs of recent abuse; far more recent than their last breath. Zuridan shuddered and nearly bowled over a knobby form barring his path.

The orc was even smaller than the jailer, and his stance was uneven. Zuridan soon found this was because his right leg was made entirely of metal plates, pistons and gears. That could only mean two things: One, he had found Gimpy. Two, he had found the tauren.

It appeared, though Zuridan refused to believe it, that Gimpy was dangling a dead fish in front of the bars, and the tauren inside was trying desperately to fit his massive fingers through and grab the fish. For what purpose the tauren wanted the fish, Zuridan did not dwell on. Instead, he grabbed Gimpy by the shoulder and spun him about.

"Open the door," he commanded with a commanding air.

"Who'z you bein'?" Gimpy articulated, stuffing the fish into his pants.

"I'm 'bein' here for the tauren."

"Not till I'z done wit da fish," the orc cackled, pulling the dead marine animal back out and slipping it through the bars. The tauren inside grappled feebly for it, and managed to wrap two meaty fingers around it. Gimpy merely pulled the fish out of his grasp and proceeded to slap his hands with it. From the expression on his face, it seemed as if this was the extent of Gimpy's daily pleasure.

"This is bullshit…" Zuridan growled, reaching out and clamping a hand down on Gimpy's wrist. With one deft bite, the crippled orc was separated from his arm, while the arm itself refused to be separated from the fish. Zuridan kicked the screaming orc onto the ground, searching his grimy belt tentatively for a set of keys.

Within moments, the tauren was freed. Freed would be a relative term, since he merely sat inside his cell, eyes as big as saucers.

"Zuridan Fargaze," Zuridan said by way of greeting.

The tauren gave his reply after a great deal of consideration.

"Argam Stonehoof."

"Well? Coming?"

"Are you a miracle?"

The question caught Zuridan completely off-guard, and it took him a few seconds for his wit to re-boot.

"Yeah, I'm Medivh in disguise. Now will you come with me?"

Argam nodded reverently. "Sure thing, Mr. Oracle."

Zuridan led the monstrously stupid tauren out into the corridor, stopping only to pick up Gimpy's arm so he could eat it later. The orc himself was still writhing on the floor, spewing enough blood to drown a pair of nearby rodents.

As they passed the Jailer, Zuridan stopped again. "What's your name?" He queried.

"Why youz askin'?"

"I have a feeling I'll be coming back."

The orc eyed him strangely. "Itz Dakka."

"Alright. Same time next week, then?" he joked. Zuridan hoped to Hellscream's ghost that it would remain so.

* * *

"Well, Xan…I'm pleased to tell you something." The rogue trainer leaned forward, spilling some thistle tea in the process. "You totally freakin' failed. I dunno, maybe you're like…on drugs or something. That was the most…" The orc trailed off. "Uh…" 

"Pathetic?" Xan offered, downing another cup of thistle tea.

"YEAH! That's it! What you said."

"Where'd you get dis tea, mon?" Xan asked the table.

"Dude…dude, dude, dude. _You _got it. I dunno, ask yourself or something."

"I tried, mon. He ain' home."

The trainer suddenly burst out laughing, as if Xan had created the most hilarious sentence possibly conceived within the Orcish language. "Well…looks like this was a waste of time _and _money. No refunds, dude."

"Oh, I get it," Xan started indignantly. "You take my money, you take my drug tea, now I ain' got nothin'."

"Alright, y'know…since I'm feeling so happy right now, I'll let you keep the tea."

"We jus' finished it."

"Good. Now get the hell outta here."

Xan stumbled out of the Cleft of Shadow, not feeling entirely vindicated, but at the same time not feeling particularly cheated either. Everything was so colorful, it hardly seemed to matter. He made his way toward what he thought was the herbalist, only to trip and fall into the arms of an Orgrimmar guard.

"Oh, _hell _no. I'm _not _doing that again…" Someone familiar growled nearby, though Xan couldn't quite place the voice. One muffled discussion later, and Xan was dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the guard's feet shuffling away and wondered what kind of miracle had caused him to do so. Soon enough, the miracle would be staring him in the face.

"'Sup mon," Xan muttered, not quite looking at Zuridan but not necessarily looking away.

"Have fun with the rogue trainer?"

"Bes' time o' my life, mon."

"Xan, I caught a fish!" Argam interrupted loudly.

"This isn't the tauren you were talking about, is he?" Zuridan continued undaunted.

"Migh' be…" Xan grumbled in reply. "He's pink, right?" The next and last thing Xan saw was a massive, wet gray slab arcing toward his head.

* * *

When Xan's eyes decided to wake him up, he found his face slimy and reeking with a vaguely fishy odor. He also found that he was in a cramped wooden cabin, and that cramped wooden cabin was made even more cramped with the addition of an extra-large tauren and an extra-tall orc. He also found that the cabin was rocking violently. 

"Huh?" Xan spat, rolling over and falling from a woolen hammock. "Where da hell…?"

"Zeppelin," Zuridan grunted. "Your friend Argam told me you were trying to get to Undercity."

This roused Xan rather quickly. "Wait, what about all da beer? Did you bring it?"

"Drank it all," Argam muttered absent-mindedly, twirling his fish in-between two fingers. Xan was about to bellow out the worst swear he could think of, but before he did, he decided to check and see if Baron Longshore's hat was still on his skull. Feeling the velvety leather under his fingers calmed his nerves considerably, and he reconsidered waking the rest of the ship.

"How much money you got?" Xan asked, turning to Zuridan.

"Enough," Zuridan offered, pulling a bag of coins from his robe and tossing it to the troll.

"Sweet," Xan hissed, rifling through the gold and silver coins. "I blew all my money on da freakin' trainer."

"Oh yeah, that reminds me…" Zuridan felt for something next to him, and held out an envelope. "Someone told me to give this to you." Xan took it and popped off the wax seal, immediately knowing who it was from. The wax was molded into a dagger, and there was only one group Xan knew of that thrived on such melodrama.

_I'm terribly sorry about the incident this afternoon. I can assure you, that was _not _thistle tea, and that was probably not an herbalist that you got the tea from. No matter. I'll let you take the lesson again, free of charge. _Xan made ready to yelp with joy, but just then the letter unfolded and revealed another paragraph that made his blood curdle.

_On one condition. It has come to my attention that our deep cover agent in the Venture Company has uncovered something useful to our cause. It's a new type of poison, and it's being kept at the top of a tower somewhere in the northern Barrens. If you can rendezvous with our agent, break into the tower, kill the guard and steal the highly contagious poison, you can have your free lesson. Good hunting!_

"Wit love…" Xan muttered, disbelieving. "Da Shattered Hand." Here he was, hundreds of feet in the air and halfway between two continents, with a relatively harmless but decidedly less lucrative quest going one way, and a suicide mission with a juicy reward in the opposite direction.

"What is it?" Zuridan asked.

"Nothin'…" Xan replied wistfully. "Nothin' at all."

**End of chapter 11**


	12. Like a Led Zeppelin

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 12 – Like a Led Zeppelin**

By Genoscythe

AN: Two chapters in one day? Sheer madness, I know. Unfortunately, that's just the way my brain works...

* * *

The trip on the zeppelin was going wonderfully, because Xan was asleep and the terrors waiting outside his mind couldn't touch him. However, a sharp crack brought him back into reality. Argam was gone, and now Zuridan was sitting in his place, gorging on a long green object in his hands. As Xan'Jin's eyes focused, he nearly vomited. The object was an arm, an orc's arm, and Zuridan was eating it. The noise that awoke him was the sound of Zuridan sinking his fangs into the humerus. 

Xan wanted to ask what the hell Zuridan was doing, but a) Xan was afraid that if he opened his mouth he really _would _vomit and b) Xan was getting tired of asking questions all the time. Instead, he merely sat on the edge of the bed and watched in horrified fascination, hoping Zuridan would notice him and explain everything.

"Oh, don't worry," Zuridan should have said. "I do a little acting on the side, and right now I'm rehearsing to play the part of a cannibal. This arm's made of rubber, see?"

What Zuridan actually said was: "Want some?"

Xan excused himself with a violent shake of his head.

After emptying his bowels over the side of the deck, Xan sagged onto the rail. It was still night, but there were several people talking or posing dramatically on the ship's bow, perfecting the art of tossing their hair in the wind.

The only anomaly was a huge tauren lugging a huge fish from person to person, asking them something that Xan couldn't make out from his position slung over the side of the zeppelin. He crawled closer, until he could hear Argam's conversation with a stalwart-looking troll.

"Do you know any freezing spells?" Argam queried.

"Ja mon. What'choo need freezin'?" The troll replied cockily. Argam answered by holding up his fish.

"I want it frozen enough to use as a weapon," he explained. Both Xan and the troll mage gawked at him.

"O…okay…" the mage sputtered, swallowing his astonishment and grabbing the fish in both hands. He closed his eyes, and as they watched the fish seemed to be sprouting ice crystals from its skin. When the troll handed it back to Argam, it was stiff as a board. "Dat'll keep joo for a good while. Joo come see Zoso when it's soft again."

"Thanks," Argam said, his dark eyes sparkling. He took two practice swings with his new weapon, nearly knocking off Zoso's head in the process. The troll mage hurried off to a less disturbing part of the ship, while Xan trudged forward from the shadows.

"You ain' gonna really use dat thing, right?" He asked worriedly.

"Of course I am," Argam responded, as if Xan had just told him he wasn't a tauren.

"But…dat's a _fish_! What are you gonna do wit your axe?"

Argam nodded. "Thanks for reminding me." At this, he pulled his axe out of its sheath and brought the shaft down onto his knee, splintering the fine weapon in two. Before Xan could even moan in shame, Argam hurled the two pieces off the deck and into the gaping maw of the ocean.

"Well…" Xan sighed. "I be ready for anythin' now." He decided to check up on his cannibal partner.

* * *

Zuridan stuffed Gimpy's last remaining digit into his mouth, swallowing it with a crunch. The hunger was abated…for now. Hopefully, Xan hadn't jumped ship yet and he could convince Xan that he only ate orcs (not that this made it much better, but he had been abandoned many times before by teammates who feared he would eat them while they slept). 

Within moments, Xan was silhouetted in the doorway. Surprisingly, he seemed calm. Even more surprisingly, he didn't have a legion of orcs bearing torches and pitchforks behind him. The fact that they were on a blimp in the middle of the ocean did not deter the possibility of an angry mob of peasants; they seemed to be able to materialize out of nothing if the need arose.

"Done yet?" Xan asked.

"Sorry about that," said Zuridan. "One of our first attempts to free Zorqua and Helmon had some weird side effects."

"Like cannibalism?"

"Like cannibalism."

"…do you eat trolls?"

"No, definitely not. You've got no meat on you." Zuridan laughed heartily. Xan laughed nervously.

"How long 'till we get dere?" Xan queried, wisely changing the subject. On cue, a booming megaphone crackled to life.

"_This is captain Hin Denburg speaking. The Eastern Continent should just be peeking over the horizon if anybody's interested."_

"That answer your question?" Zuridan spoke rhetorically. They sat in silence for what seemed like ages, until they sensed a disturbance thumping down the stairs and toward their cabin. When Argam pushed through the doorway, he took several wooden planks out of the wall. Now, at this moment Xan regrets saying "I be ready for anythin' now." It was a lie.

"Look!" Argam exclaimed, swinging his new weapon about. It was no longer just a frozen fish, but some mad variant of a scythe. There was a curved blade stuck through the fish's head, and it appeared both large enough and sharp enough to lop off someone's torso. Xan recalled seeing an identical blade protruding from the front of the ship earlier.

"Put that thing down before you hurt someone," Zuridan growled.

"You're not my boss!" Argam shot back.

"Put it down, mon," Xan said with a sigh. The fishscythe clattered heavily to the floor. Zuridan groaned and lay back against a stack of boxes. No sooner had he done this than he shot upright again. "What's up?" Xan queried.

"Do you smell that?" Zuridan asked dramatically, sweeping his head about. Xan was about to say no, but he knew enough to know that as soon as he did, he would smell it. So he waited, and in a few seconds an acrid brimstony smell invaded his nostrils. "It's Zorqua…" the orc growled, getting to his feet and pulling his wand with him. However, as soon as he rushed out the door, he was smashed across the hallway by a green fireball. His robes aflame, Zuridan rolled along the wooden floor to put them out. Argam saved him the trouble by smacking him with the fish edge of his fishblade.

Argam now rushed at the little imp, who was conjuring another fireball on the other side of the hallway. Before he could finish it, Argam swung his fishblade at the demon. It hopped out of the way, and the tauren's weapon crashed loudly into the wall. However, on the return swing, he caught the imp with the flat side of his fish and sent it careening through a cabin door.

Xan, as usual, remained safely in the cabin and hadn't even bothered to draw his weapons. He was more afraid of getting in the way of Zuridan or Argam than the imp. However, when he looked to his left, he noticed that the wall had begun to glow an ethereal green. A moment later, he realized it was on fire. A moment after that, Zorqua burst through the weakened boards and latched onto his face, much like the Vile Familiar had once upon a time.

Xan stabbed madly at the imp, managing only to nick one of his tusks. However, when the imp let go with its arms to cast a fireball in his direction, Xan was able to toss Zorqua off of him and back into the hallway for his comrades to deal with. From his vantage point inside the cabin, Xan could see the imp lying on the deck. However, it jumped out of the way just as a shadow bolt thundered forward from the left and a fishblade slammed down from the right.

The resulting hole in the floor gave Xan a perfect view of the ocean below, which he noticed was becoming more shallow now. Deciding that a highly flammable zeppelin wasn't the best place to drag on a fight with a demon and two maddened Horde soldiers, Xan jumped into the fray. He bolted past Zuridan and Argam as they chased Zorqua up the stairs and onto the upper deck of the ship.

What they found chilled Xan'Jin's blood. Zorqua was standing atop the stairwell, his hands pointed skyward as if praying for forgiveness. If the little imp gave a damn about morals, then he surely would have been. Instead, he was conjuring up the mother of all fireballs and aiming it at the gas balloon that kept the zeppelin afloat.

Xan guessed that he might have been able to stop Zorqua from torching the balloon, but he simply didn't care enough. He was still tired, and he much preferred falling to climbing up the stairwell and stabbing the little imp. So, the fireball was launched, as Xan was blocking the way of Argam and Zuridan.

Strangely enough, the zeppelin's inertia seemed to die the moment it caught flame. The balloon exploded instantly, and the remains dropped toward the ground (yes, they were over solid ground by now) like a rock. However, it wasn't ground that they landed on.

Their descent was halted as a massive shingled spire exploded through the center of the zeppelin, nearly tearing the wooden contraption in two. Xan and company were on the rear end of the ship, which was perched despairingly over a courtyard of some kind. From the architecture and the abundance of red decorations, Xan assumed the worst. They had landed on top of the Scarlet Monastery.

* * *

Herod, as his aides had suggested, was taking a walk through the outermost courtyard, trying to get a breath of fresh air before descending into the armory once more. What he actually got was a burning zeppelin perched despairingly over his head. He stood, in several seconds of stunned silence, before the zeppelin shattered and the back half came tumbling down the roof toward him. 

With incredible strength, Herod leapt out of the way as the ship thundered to the ground and crushed the beautiful fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Immediately, three forms flopped over the side of the zeppelin and landed, gasping and scorched, on the immaculate grass. When they looked up to find the Scarlet Crusade's greatest warrior standing over them, it seemed as if they were about to die of fright. Herod was about to die of glee.

"I've been waiting for a challenge that I don't need my shirt for!" Herod bellowed, tossing off his scarlet tunic and baring his revealing crimson armor. That was all the Horde soldiers needed. They bolted to their feet and ran. Herod could not help but laugh as they ran deeper into the armory. He leisurely walked after them, knowing they would either be stopped by his minions or they would run back into him. Either was fine.

* * *

Xan, being the most cowardly, naturally assumed the lead as they ran toward what they believed was the exit. Instead, they ran into a pair of Scarlet Crusaders standing next to a stockpile of fireworks. Xan skidded to a half and turned to Zuridan. "Light it up," he whispered, and the two crusaders whipped around at the sound of his voice. However, one of the barrels of fireworks had already been Immolated, and soon the hallway was filled with a multicolored inferno of joyous death. 

The Scarlet Crusaders seemed to have been vaporized, and their way was blocked by debris and errant fireworks. That only left one option. They had to get through Herod.

"Any last words?" Xan asked grimly, turning around to face their destiny.

"I've got some," Argam grunted. "I always wanted to make a dress for you, Xan."

"Any _less freaky _last words?"

"No," Argam sighed. Just then, the silhouette of Herod appeared in the doorway. He said something that was probably very intimidating in Common, but to the Horde soldiers it sounded like gibberish. However, Herod's normally impressive figure was dwarfed by a shadow behind it. A moment later, something huge, green, and armored crashed into the crusader and thrust him into the ground.

An orc warrior stood up, pinning Herod to the ground. Xan guessed he was another survivor of the zeppelin crash. "Go!" The orc bellowed, though Xan's group was already running. As soon as they made it back into the courtyard, they heard the orc clashing blades with Herod. Argam and Zuridan hoped the orc would be okay, but Xan just ran faster.

* * *

Herod grinned, wiping blood from his lip and hoisting his prize into the air. The orc's head gleamed in Tirisfal's meager sunlight. "Just more proof that humans are good and everyone else is bad," he remarked, dropping the severed appendage onto the bloody grass. If he was lucky, the weaker soldiers hadn't escaped yet. He _was _feeling lucky today. 

Xan slipped through another knot of crusaders, cursing internally. His group had run into a heavy iron gate, and the switch appeared to be through a dense herd of Scarlet Crusaders. Being the sneakiest one, Argam and Zuridan had given Xan the task of throwing the switch before Herod found them and ripped them apart. At the moment, he was climbing a ramp that led to one of the Scarlet Monastery's many sentry towers. The tower itself was empty save the switch, but the way there was clogged with humans.

Having finally made it, Xan concentrated on keeping his illusion as he pushed down on the lever. He didn't need to worry about his stealth, for as soon as the gate began to ascend, every one of the humans turned to look at it. Xan could almost imagine large exclamation points floating over their heads as they did so.

Argam and Zuridan ducked through the gate, and they gave him the 'okay' sign. While all the Scarlet Crusaders were rushing the gate, Xan let go of the switch and the gate crashed loudly to the ground. Feeling proud of himself, he stepped out of the tower only to be confronted by a terrifying sight. Herod had seen through his pitiful illusion, and he was charging up the ramp with madness in his eyes.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Xan realized that both Herod _and _the gate were between him and freedom. However, he looked to his right and found a way to rectify that. Leaping onto the edge of the outer wall, he turned around just long enough to give Herod the universal hand gesture before doing a backflip off the side and into relative safety.

The backflip ended badly, with Xan on his stomache amidst a field of crash survivors. He looked up briefly, and noticed that Herod was seriously considering jumping after him. Before he did, a scarlet-clad soldier intervened and pulled the massive human away from the edge.

The survivors of the zeppelin crash cheered vigorously, and Xan was soon being pulled to his feet by friendly hands. _Dey must've seen me give 'im da birdie…_ Xan realized wearily. He decided to chalk this adventure up in the 'Not a Complete Failure' category.

**End of chapter 12**

* * *

AN: Hin Denburg is really a zeppelin master npc, not a vain attempt at a pun (at least not on my part). 


	13. Melchiah

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 13 – Melchiah**

By Genoscythe

AN: Yes, the _Hindenburg _was one of the first zeppelins, and it was also one of the first to erupt into a giant fireball. More than appropriate, considering what happened to Hin Denburg's zeppelin…

* * *

Xan took a look at the ethereal green water flowing through the ruins of Lordaeron, thought about washing off the soot and ash from his face, then wisely reconsidered. Once the initial shock and adrenaline rush had worn off from their earlier escapade, he realized what a dreadful place Tirisfal Glades was, and it made him a bit homesick. All he had to do was remind himself that there was a suicide mission waiting for him back in the Barrens, and the homesickness passed immediately. 

He perched himself atop a ruined statue, watching and attempting to eavesdrop on Argam's conversation with captain Hin Denburg. From what he could gather, the Zeppelin Master was more upset that Argam had ripped off a piece of the ship's prow to complete his fishblade than the fact that the rest of his ship no longer existed as more than bits of tinder and hydrogen chloride. He was demanding that Argam pay for the blade so he could replace it (Captain Denburg did not seem daunted that there was nothing to replace it on).

It had been half an hour since Zuridan had descended below the surface in search of some clues to freeing his demons, and Xan was getting tired of waiting. After an eternity, the Zeppelin Master gave up on trying to converse with Argam and left for the zeppelin tower. As if waiting for the goblin to leave, Zuridan appeared out of the oppressive gloom and trudged toward them.

"What'cha got?" Xan asked, but Zuridan shook his head.

"Absolutely nothing. All of Lordaeron's old books were destroyed when it fell, and all the warlocks down there just laughed when I told them what was wrong."

"Fine. Betta get moving, then."

"Wait," Zuridan interjected. "While we're here, maybe we should look for another ally."

Xan raised an eyebrow. "Why here?"

"Isn't it obvious? We've got a troll, a tauren, and an orc. All we need to complete this sad little politically correct montage is a Forsaken."

Xan grimaced. "Jus' 'cause we don' have an undead don' mean we _need _one."

"What's your problem with the Forsaken?"

"What's _your _problem wit Tirisfal?" Xan retorted. Zuridan gave him an astonished look. "If you don' wanna come wit us, jus' say so."

"Well, I…" Zuridan was at a loss for words. "I just think we should find some more group members. You two go ahead while I get some."

"Fine, fine," Xan conceded. "Try to get us a woman, if we still goin' for da political thing."

"I'll see what I can do," Zuridan spoke, sounding relieved.

Half an hour later found Xan and Argam trudging warily through the forest of Silverpine. Along their way, Argam met a charming young squirrel that had obviously been dead and picked clean by scavengers weeks ago. That squirrel was now slung over Argam's shoulder, and from what Xan could tell, it was shouting out orders to the tauren. He could tell because Argam would shout into Xan's ear, then timidly respond to himself as if he hadn't heard anything.

Needless to say, Xan started feeling just as barking mad as Argam was after a while. So barking mad, in fact, that when Argam next shouted "Do they have ethanol products at this Sepulcher?", Xan rounded on him.

"I don' know, mon!" he roared. "If you shut ya mouth for a bit, we migh' get dere a li'l bit faster!" Being barking mad as he was, the outburst wasn't directed at Argam so much as it was directed at the rotting squirrel. Whether schizophrenia was contagious, or if it was just a symptom of being barking mad, Xan didn't know. He just wanted some peace and quiet to listen to.

"Vessel, silence this troll," Argam said for the squirrel.

"No! I don't want to hurt Xan!" Argam said for himself.

"He's getting in the way. Personally, I think you should have done away with him a long time ago." Argam as squirrel.

"Xan got us beer, remember?" Argam as Argam.

"You could get your own beer if you had a grain of intelligence in that massive head of yours."

"My head isn't massive!"

"It feels much bigger when you're forced to live in it."

"…what?"

Xan thought it would be a pretty neat idea to interrupt their conversation with an important question, and so he did. "Where da _hell_ are we?"

The two soldiers stopped and glanced about for the first time in ten minutes. They were inside a group of trees huddled next to an abandoned farm. The road was nowhere in sight, and probably had no intentions of coming back. As if to accentuate the point that they were hopelessly lost, a wolf bayed in the distance.

"Good job, mon," Xan muttered, twirling a knife anxiously. Once again, he managed to nick his wrist with it, and hastily put it away before he got a chance to cut deeper.

"Let's see if anybody's living at the farm," Argam suggested.

"What, da smart one's on now?"

"No, and I'm amazed he even managed _that_ little feat of brilliance," Argam as squirrel said. "Ever since you gave him his first drink of alcohol at Ratchet, his mind has been deteriorating rapidly."

"An' you don' think bein' a schizo is 'deteriorating'?" Xan had trouble forming the word 'deteriorating' (because it's just not in a troll's vocabulary), but he got around it.

"Actually, Argam isn't schizophrenic."

Xan stopped walking.

"What." The disbelief in his voice made it sound more like a statement than a question.

"It's an interesting story, actually. I'm – " Squirrelgam was drowned out by a howling wolf, and this time it sounded much closer. It also sounded much less like a wolf and much more like a pack of wolves.

"I'm thinkin' we betta get to dat farm," Xan intoned, picking up the pace again. They were halfway across the rotting field when three pale white forms broke through the trees. They loped across the field on two legs, growling and giving half-assed yelps of hunger. These werewolves were apparently new to the species.

Argam bounded forward, scooping up Xan with his fishblade. Nobody noticed, not even the werewolves, the squirrel corpse being left in the dust.

The tauren burst through the farm house door, and Xan quickly slammed it shut behind them. However, they immediately noticed that there was a door on the other side of the house, and it was wide open. They ran to shut it, but two wolves made sure that they didn't. One leapt down from a window on the second story, and the other skidded through the open door. The four combatants faced each other like a pair of elementary school bullies facing a pair of elementary school nerds. That is to say, one pair was terrifying, and the other pair was terrified.

Before Argam and Xan could get themselves torn apart, a shudder seemed to pass through the floorboards of the dilapidated farmhouse. Argam, Xan, even the wolves turned to the dark corner of the house on their right. A golden pair of eyes glared back. The eyes bobbed, and the heavy thud of an armored boot echoed through the room. Another thud, and the eyes bobbed closer. The werewolves drew back instinctively, but Argam and Xan didn't know any better, and so they watched in awe.

A form was beginning to take shape in the darkness. A mess of feathery black hair hung over the glowing eyes, and dull bones shone in their light. As the form drew closer, they made it out to be a Forsaken clad in scaly golden armor. The skin of his jaw was nonexistent, and a sort of permanent grimace affixed his face. Besides his face, his body was mostly covered by armor and large boots. However, his hands were bare and revealing huge hooked claws.

He passed a table, and dragged one claw along it menacingly. Behind it, a line of decayed wood was left in the table. Xan and Argam were transfixed, but the wolves were at the point of whimpering now. They seemed to know what was about to happen, but they made no move to stop it.

The Forsaken exploded into motion, nearly flying at the first wolf and impaling it on a short sword that seemed to come from nowhere. The wolf exploded, literally this time, from the force of the blow. Its companion howled and scampered up the wall toward the window on the second floor. The Forsaken watched as it tried to escape, then leapt up after it.

Now he pulled a hulking shield from his back and slammed it into the wolf, who fell off the windowsill and onto the ground outside. Argam and Xan watched through the doorway as the undead man dropped from the sky and beheaded the werewolf all in the same move. He disappeared to (they assumed) kill the third wolf, and returned to them with his armor spattered in blood.

"Well? Get out." His voice was metal grinding on rock.

"Wh…wh…wha…" Xan found his windpipe clogged by stupefaction.

"I told you to get out," the Forsaken repeated, kicking bits of the exploded werewolf out the door. "You speak Orcish, don't you?"

"That…was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen…" Argam murmured reverently.

"You're not gonna leave, are you?" The Forsaken muttered, sounding almost bored.

"Mebbe sometime…" Xan replied. At that moment, he remembered what Zuridan had suggested. _All we need to complete this sad little politically correct montage is a Forsaken._ _Well, here's a Forsaken... _Words seemed to tumble out of his mouth at no warning at all. "You wanna come wit us?"

The Forsaken burst out into a riotous laugh that inspired more despair than mirth. "Hold on. Shake all that stupid out of your head and ask me again."

"C'mon. It'll be fun."

"Listen, son. I'm cursed."

Youthful rebellion flared up in Xan. "Please don' call me son."

"You're young enough to be mine. Hell, you're probably young enough to be my grandson."

"What, you a trollophile, mon?"

"When your life cycle ceases to exist, you start thinking in broader terms, son."

Argam cleared his throat so loud they both thought he was dying. Apparently, he hadn't yet mastered the art of interrupting an argument. "Excuse me, Mr. Forsaken. It's 'more broad', and you skipped the part about being cursed. Could you please explain?"

The Forsaken let out a rasp of annoyance, letting an ethereal steam hiss through his jaws. "I hate it when people correct me. Let's get _that _part clear right now."

"Okay, it's clear."

"Now, I really don't feel like explaining it all to someone who's about to leave my house and never see me again, but I will say this: I'm cursed, I've been cursed, and I always will be cursed. Not a namby little gypsy curse, either. This is black magic. Bad shit."

Argam looked at Xan, then turned back. "I don't think we're comprehending."

"We ain' comprehendin', mon."

"All the more reason for you to _leave_."

"No freakin' way!" Xan insisted. "We _need _you, mon."

"You won't when I tell you about the curse," the Forsaken suddenly split into a wicked grin, finally finding a way to be rid of the two soldiers. "Everything I touch withers up or decays. Everything living gets dysentery and nonstop vomiting for about a week, then they become just like me. In other words, I'm spreading the disease unless I keep my hands in my pockets for the rest of eternity."

"Okay," Xan said, nonplussed.

"_Okay_? What's okay about that?"

"Your turn to listen, mon…" Xan began, in a matter-of-fact tone. "I got a cannibal warlock wit homicidal pets an' a schizophrenic metrosexual tauren wit a frozen gian' fish for a weapon. I got bad luck like you won' believe. Everyone I meet wants ta skin me, all da missions I get were made for heroes, an' people treat me like a slave. I been run ragged all 'cross Kalimdor, I got some crazy Paladin stalkin' me, I got ripped off by da rogue trainer…"

Xan now sat back in a half-rotten chair, feeling fairly confident now. "So…I really _don' care _abou' some curse. For what it's worth, I'm probly cursed too."

The Forsaken blinked in surprise, a gesture only detectable by a quick flickering of his glowing eyes. Finally, he spoke in a more subdued tone. "Really?"

"That's all true," Argam added, nodding with self-importance that he most definitely didn't deserve. "_I'm_ the schizophrenic metrosexual tauren with the frozen giant fish."

The Forsaken grunted. "You don't look like a metro to me…"

"He likes dresses," Xan put in. Argam clapped with glee. The Forsaken gave a nod of understanding.

"So…the offer still stands?"

"O' course it stands, mon!"

"Alright…I'll come with you on one condition."

Xan narrowed his eyes.

"You all help me find the Lich that cursed me. I call the shots until we do."

"Deal!" Argam bellowed.

"No deal!" Xan barked, but he was drowned out by Argam.

"Come on, Xan. We could use a good quest," Argam whispered in his best persuasive voice.

"Why?"

"That's just what people do these days. They go on a quest."

"Well, I ain' like people. I jus' wanna take the short an' easy route 'till my three years are up."

"But it's a _quest_! That's basically our only reason for living."

"Maybe you, no' me."

"We can get more beer…"

"We can get mo' beer anywhere. Don' usually take a quest to get to a liquor store."

"What about women?"

"We can…" Xan stopped himself. His luck with women had been nothing short of abysmal (as with all other types of luck), and the closest he had gotten to being with a girl was when he had joined up with Alani the priestess. If questing was the only thing that would get him women (or put him in the right direction) then so be it. "Fine. Le's go, mon."

"Wow..." the Forsaken hissed. "It's taken me years to get someone to agree to that."

"Mind tellin' us your name?"

"Melchiah," he snarled. "If I were still alive, it'd be Colonel Melchiah." The Forsaken whipped around and bared the faded red cape draped across his shoulder plates. A colonel's insignia, or what Xan imagined as one, was embroidered in the upper-right corner.

"Hmmm…" Argam rumbled. "I guess Zuridan doesn't have to find anyone else now."

"Who?"

* * *

"And then…the dog bit my husband. I didn't know he had the plague until three days later, when he started eating me in my sleep. That was before our house caught fire, mind. And before our children died of the Imploding Rectum Disease. But really, things are even more dreadful now. So very, very dreadful…" 

Zuridan wondered what it would feel like to swallow his tongue. It couldn't be that bad. Maybe a bit uncomfortable at the offset, but once he was dead it would probably be great. At least he wouldn't have to listen to this undead woman ramble anymore.

"Do you know what it feels like to become a zombie?"

"Obviously I don't, Katrina."

"It's dreadful. Every time I think about it, I get so…depressed."

Then again, maybe throat-slitting was the way to go. It was undoubtedly faster.

"Have you ever been eaten by your husband?"

He thought about jumping in the glowing green lake, but it probably wasn't as poisonous as it looked.

"It's almost as dreadful as turning into a zombie. Maybe just as bad. Both happened at the same time, so I have trouble sorting out which kind of pain belonged to which malady."

Zuridan tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for Helmon to show up.

"I don't suppose you've ever heard of the Imploding Rectum Disease, have you?"

That was it. "Do you want me to kill you _again_, lady?"

Katrina's mottled face broke into a smile. "That would be lovely."

Zuridan produced a dagger from his sleeve, but Katrina immediately recoiled.

"You're going to kill me with _that_? Ugh, how dreadfully crude. Forget I asked."

"You didn't."

"Good, now forget about it."

This just wasn't worth it. "Alright, miss. Deal's off. I've gotta get going."

"Fine. You can leave just like my husband." The heartbreaking tone in Katrina's voice merely fueled Zuridan's desire to leave. "Might as well take a bite while you're at it!" She thrust her decaying hand into his face, causing the tall orc to shrink back in disgust. He turned on his heels and ran headlong into parts unknown. Behind him, he could hear Katrina saying "Come back sometime. I've got a dreadful amount of stories to tell you!"

Fifteen minutes and three wrong turns later, Zuridan emerged from the ruins of Lordaeron. He took a step outside the massive yawning gate, and unexpectedly swooned. Recoiling back into the safety of the castle, Zuridan tried not to look in the direction of Silverpine forest. Something in his head was nagging at him, telling him not to go there. Whenever he began to question why, all he could picture was a huge floating skeleton draped in some awful caricature of a shaman's robes.

It was either into the forest or back to Katrina. In the end, there was really only one choice. Zuridan took a deep breath, what some people call a 'leap of faith', and ran off toward the forest with his eyes squeezed shut.

**End of chapter 13**

AN: A little bit of trivia: Melchiah is the only character so far that I've actually made in the game (the others are all based off of other characters, like Xanbeing identical tomy level 44 rogue Genoscythe). So...until next time. Whenever the hell that's gonna be.


	14. Nocturne

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 14 – Nocturne**

By Genoscythe

AN: Don't worry, I've planned for Melchiah to be a badass from the beginning.

* * *

"Okay, mon. We get da full story now," Xan spoke as he, Argam, and their new business partner wandered through the forest. Supposedly, Melchiah knew where to go, but he had yet to show any evidence of this. "Start from when you weren't…dead." 

Melchiah sighed, having apparently told the story many times. "Like I said, I used to be a colonel in the Lordaeron army. That was back when the Scourge was making way for the Burning Legion to return, kind of like a pre-invasion invasion. At first, we only lost a few towns, but after Dalaran fell the king started to get a little twitchy. He sent me and a fair portion of the army to attack the Scourge, but all we found was a small detachment of their main force. This detachment was led by a Lich named Araj the Summoner. Ever heard of him?"

Both Xan and Argam shook their heads.

"Even the smaller Scourge group was too much for us." A bitter chuckle from Melchiah. "It's not easy fighting an army that gets three soldiers from every dead body. In the end, it was just me, the Lich, and a couple hundred Undead. The damn Lich didn't kill me, though. He pulled out some crazy-looking book and started reading from it. After every word he said, it felt like hot knives were carving into my skin. When he was done, I had all these swirling lines cut into my arms and (I'd find out later) my chest."

"So he gave you dysentery and vomiting?" Argam piped in.

"No. I don't know why, I guess 'cause I was the first one to be cursed. So, naturally, I was pretty pissed. I attacked Araj, and I grabbed the book. When it touched my fingers, it burst into flame and the Lich got pretty pissed too. _That _was when he killed me."

"You're not dead now."

"Of course not. The curse was already working, so all I did was get up again and try to stab him. He froze me, then floated up real close to my face like this…" Melchiah leaned toward Xan until all the troll could see was bone and rotting flesh. Instinctively, he leapt back, not wanting a part in the curse. "And he told me that I'd never touch a living thing again, unless I wanted to be as cruel as him. Then he killed me again for good measure, and the Scourge left me frozen in the middle of the battlefield."

"You remember this pretty well," Argam remarked.

"I _should_. I've thought about it every day for the last four years."

"So, when you touch someone, they turn into your slave, or somethin'?"

Melchiah laughed his now-familiar bitter laugh. "It doesn't work like that. They have their own free will, and they're indestructible like me. If I cursed the wrong person, or even the right person…it's too dangerous. Unlike the Scourge, I'm not interested in sharing my pain with the rest of the world."

Argam and Xan nodded reverently. How had they managed to get such a heroic(ish) soldier into their group? This Melchiah was the antithesis to everything that Xan's group stood for. 'Everything' was divided equally between booze and cowardice.

"Can you imagine what it's like to not be able to lift up a cup to drink, or hold a woman in your arms?"

Xan had to honestly say that he couldn't.

"That's been my life for the last four years. I've given up trying to eat or drink, and I isolated myself in that cabin to make sure no accidents happened to anybody else."

Xan became acutely aware that Melchiah was not only no longer isolated, but walking right next to him. The Forsaken had his arms crossed, but Xan inched away in case he might trip and accidentally grab the troll.

"Wait…wait, wait," Argam grunted, pausing momentarily to sort out his thoughts. "If you can't touch things without disintegrating them, then how do you use that sword and shield?"

"This?" Melchiah spoke, sliding the sword out of its sheath and flipping it in the air. Naturally, this made Xan even more nervous. "It's a family heirloom, and it used to be my sword while I was alive. See, everything touching my body at the time of the curse was bound to my soul. My sword, my shield, my armor…even the patch of grass I was sitting on." Melchiah raised his clawed hands. "I picked a lousy time to lose my gloves. Ever since I was cursed, I tried finding a new pair, but they all fall apart."

"He's been talking for a long time," Argam observed under his breath.

"You _can_ if you don' need ta breathe," Xan replied, equally quiet.

"Since you're both bored of me talking, it's your turn. What's all this schizophrenia crap about?"

"I'm not schizophrenic!" Argam bellowed. "It's – "

They all fell silent at the sound of a loud thump off in the distance, followed by a string of curses. Xan immediately recognized the voice, and he ran to it. He found Zuridan on the ground, rubbing his head wearily.

"Hey, mon. I though' you were lookin' for new members."

"It's not worth it…" Zuridan murmured through clenched teeth. "Damn it, it's not worth it!"

"Calm down, mon. Open your eyes."

"No way. _He's _out there."

Xan sighed. "You can' expect me to know what da hell you're talkin' 'bout when ya say it like dat."

"Right. Sorry. Little too much melodrama."

"Jus' tone it down a bit, mon. Who's _he_?"

"That skeleton thing. The…" Zuridan struggled to find the word he was looking for. When he found it, he nearly shouted. "Lich!"

Xan raised an eyebrow. He was starting to get sick of Liches, and he hadn't even met one yet.

"What Lich?" Melchiah asked, trudging up to the fallen orc.

"I don't know!" Zuridan growled. "He didn't tell me his name!"

"What did he look like?"

"He looked like a Lich."

"Where'd you see him?"

"He's not _here_, here. Well, he was. But now he's in my head."

"What the hell are you _on,_ son?"

"Nothing! The Lich is _in my head_!"

"Which Lich are we talking about?"

"Stop saying 'Lich'!" Argam bellowed, and his outburst was rewarded with silence. Xan was the first to break it.

"Zuridan, dis be Melchiah. Mel, Zuridan." For the first time, Zuridan opened his eyes and found himself staring into Melchiah's rotting face. The orc unexpectedly shrieked and tossed out his hand, lighting the Forsaken's head on fire with an Immolate spell.

"That's him!" Zuridan roared, getting to his feet. "That's the Lich!"

Melchiah simply sighed and pressed a hand against his head. The flames immediately shrunk away from his touch, and he stared at the orc expectantly.

"Oh, wait…"

"Yeah…don't do that again."

"Sorry, sir."

A moment of awkward silence fell over Silverpine, this time interrupted by Melchiah.

"So…what's next? What are we doing now?"

"Wha' we _came _here for," Xan replied, somewhat disgruntled. The third silence, now breaking some kind of obscure world record, fell over the group as they tried desperately to remember why they were on the Eastern Continent to begin with. Unfortunately, only the two most irresponsible soldiers in the group _ever_ knew why they had traveled to the Undercity, and they were having a little trouble jogging their memories.

Finally giving up on that tactic, they tossed down their backpacks and began digging through them for any clues as to why they had traveled halfway across the world on a flammable balloon. Xan cried victory, and he hoisted a small blue disc into the sickly light of the forest.

"What is it?" Zuridan asked.

"Turtle shell, mon. We gotta take it to da Seplacher."

"Sepulcher," Melchiah corrected.

"Dat's what I said," Xan returned, putting the shell back in his pack and looking about. "We never did find da road…"

Zuridan looked down at their feet. "I think we're _on _the road."

Melchiah took a look himself. "I think you're right." Beneath them, a weathered, indistinct trail of cobblestones led deeper into the forest and (hopefully) the Sepulcher.

* * *

It didn't lead to the Sepulcher, but the rest of that tale is a boring mess. The important facts are this: Xan and company _did _arrive at the Sepulcher at about midnight the next day, all of them wet and smelling vaguely of fish (except for Melchiah, who seemed incapable of producing an odor, and except for Argam, who _always_ smelled _strongly _of fish). 

The tauren in question was nowhere to be found, but that was obviously because it was midnight. To pass the time until sunlight came around, the group slept for the first time in days (except for Melchiah, who never sleeps). Since the Sepulcher was locked and barred for the night, they all ended up sleeping on top of an abused stone effigy. Atop the effigy sat a mildly valuable-looking pendant, which Xan was quick to pocket.

They spent the entire next day asleep, as sunrise was hardly a factor in the dense forest and nobody at the Sepulcher wanted the responsibility of waking them (Except for Melchiah, but he was too busy making himself scarce to do the job). When Xan and Zuridan finally woke, they were greeted by a host of people who looked similar, if not more grotesque, than Melchiah. With Xan's limited knowledge of the Forsaken, he had to assume that they didn't share in his curse, and that made him feel marginally better.

Melchiah himself sat atop a hill in the distance, staring blankly into the forest. He was no doubt writing a depressing soliloquy in his mind. Xan told himself to get used to having a chronically unhappy member in their party, because this did not seem to be unusual behavior for Melchiah.

Leaving Argam sleeping heavily on the tombstone, as that is the only way a tauren _can _sleep, Xan went in search of Mura Runetotem with Zuridan in tow. Xan began asking around for a female tauren, while his accent went about complicating matters.

Finally, they discovered Mura in a dark, secluded corner that they would have never found if they had known where to look. The effect was similar to searching for a lost valuable object, in that they found it while following a completely different lead.

"Goodness, it's startling to see a living creature after so long," Mura chortled in a motherly fashion. "I'm afraid you might start rotting before my eyes."

Xan bobbed his head disinterestedly, then slammed the turtle shell down on the table between them. "We been trough hell an' back to get dis here. I wanna see some kinda reward."

"My, that's not very heroic of you," Mura reprimanded. Xan and Zuridan looked at each other, trying to force down a laugh.

"No, we're serious," Zuridan started.

"What's this even _for_?" She asked.

"Dat be a turtle shell from da Barrens."

"_Really_? Why's it…blue?"

"Dat's why we came to you."

"I suppose Tonga sent you?"

"Ja."

"He's the only one who knows I'm over here," Mura rambled. "I can analyze it for you, if that's what you want."

"Dat be exactly what we want."

"Give me a moment." Mura looked over the turtle shell for a fraction of a second, then swept it off the table and clenched her jaw with melodrama so thick Xan could taste it. He was the first sentient being ever to discover that melodrama tastes vaguely like coffee beans and soy. "Oh my…this is horrible."

"I'll bet," Xan muttered. "What's up?"

"It's been tainted by the Emerald Dream," Mura replied, squeezing her eyes shut. "The Druids of the Fang must be causing this."

"Figured that out pretty fast…" Zuridan muttered, leaning forward and gazing at her probingly. "How do we know you're not one of _them_?"

"I'm sorry…what?"

"No, _I _be sorry. He's crazy," Xan interrupted.

"I'm not crazy," Zuridan assured. "And I'm not kidding, either."

"I'm not a Druid of the Fang!"

"Are you?"

"_No!_"

"Are you sure you're not?"

"Of course!"

"So then you are."

"I never…! One more word out of you, and I'll call the guards."

"Z…" Xan hissed. "What da hell you be doin'?"

"I'm saving our lives," Zuridan whispered back. "You're trying to send us into a trap," he said, this time directed to Mura.

"Surely not! It seems totally logical that I – HA!" The tauren slung a vial at Zuridan's face, which shattered and sprayed a clear substance all over him. Mura ran, hit a stone wall, realized she was trapped in the Corner That Could Not Be Found, and cursed. Meanwhile, Xan was busy tackling her.

Once she was on the ground, Xan checked on Zuridan. The orc blinked in surprise, shook his head, and joined his rogue partner.

"You alright, mon?"

"I think that was just water. You really don't know how to be a good spy, lady."

"Damn it, I'll poke your eyeballs out! Let me go!" Mura thrashed her horns about for emphasis, but Zuridan merely chuckled. Xan felt a bit like he was being left out of an inside joke, so he tried to get in.

"Who you workin' for, again?"

"To hell with you!" Mura replied.

Xan turned to the orc. "Z, grab Melchiah for me." When Zuridan had returned with Melchiah in tow, Xan turned to him. "Mel, you wanna get some answers outta her?"

Melchiah eyed Xan suspiciously. "How'd you know torture was my specialty?"

Xan looked to Zuridan, and they both shared a chuckle. It felt good to have an inside joke for once.

The two of them stood back, waiting for Melchiah to explain his curse and exactly what it entailed for people that felt his touch (namely evil tauren-impersonating spies).

"Dat was a good guess, mon," Xan said, by way of asking how Zuridan knew Mura was a spy.

"Yeah, it was."

**End**


	15. King of the Mountain

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 15 – King of the Mountain**

By Genoscythe

AN: No, Mura Runetotem wasn't actually a spy, and that quest didn't go any farther than giving her the turtle shell. I take creative liberties, like that zeppelin smoldering in the courtyard of the Scarlet Monastery or the Warhammer 40K Orks running that top-secret hidden jail behind Orgrimmar.

* * *

Marek Belheim, despite being put on Double Secret Banishment or some rot like that, was having a ball. He and a contingent of Stormwind Marines were being flown to Kalimdor on a new type of gyrocopter, ostensibly to aid the Night Elves holed up in Ashenvale but really as a more cost-effective way of executing them. According to Sir Gadwyn, it would actually be cheaper to fly Marek and the doomed marines halfway across the world to be slain by Horde soldiers than to be publicly executed in Stormwind. For starters, a public execution would draw a crowd that the Stormwind janitorial staff just isn't prepared for (since nobody lives in Stormwind except shopkeepers and nobody visits Stormwind except in the event of an apocalyptic-scale earthquake beneath Ironforge or the aforementioned public execution). 

Also, Gadwyn was of the opinion that Marek and his boys could take out a few Horde soldiers in the process of dying, and that would essentially pay for the gyrocopter fuel used to take them to the gallows in the first place.

Marek was oblivious to all of this. All he knew, or cared to know, was that he was being shipped off to Ashenvale, the frontlines of the war. Finally, his escaping skills would come to some use.

"You know we're just being sent to die, right?" One of the marines quipped, staring intently at the beaming paladin shoved into the gyrocopter next to him.

"Maybe _you_ are," Marek returned. "But that's just because you don't pray enough."

The marine felt beneath his breastplate, and pulled out a priest's collar.

"Oh."

"My problem, Marek Belheim, is that I prayed _too much_."

"How does that work?" Marek was trying intently not to stare at the man's eyes, so blue that he almost appeared blind. He had a gentle air about him, unbefitting of a marine and unbefitting of a human in Marek's mind.

"Have you ever freed a prisoner of war?"

Marek burst into laughter. "That's like asking if I've ever given food to a poor person. It just don't happen."

"So, you've never saved a life before?"

"Never. But isn't that a rhetorical question?" The marine glared at him, more intensely than ever. "You kinda paused, like you were waiting for me to answer. In fact, you still are. What gives?"

"My name is Cygnus…Vismund Cygnus. You and I will talk again before the Horde decide our fate for us."

* * *

"Now…explain all dat again," Xan prompted, shaking his head in terrified wonder. In other words, he felt exactly the same as he always did, except that he was now swinging his head back and forth. 

"Why? We _just _went over the plan about five seconds ago."

"An' I still don' believe you."

"You don't believe that Melchiah and I are diving into a hole full of loopy druids and primordial ooze to kill a bunch of even loopier druids and wake up a Night Elf that's stuck in a dream world and polluting the Barrens with crazy dream magic that's turning all the wildlife into unnatural and amusing colors?"

"No, I got all dat."

"You don't believe the part when you and Argam split up and go to Stonetalon to see if Sunrock Retreat needs any reinforcements?"

"Yeah, dat's it. Why we splittin' up?"

"Because you're both lose – " Zuridan began.

"Because it's too dangerous in the Wailing Caverns," Melchiah cut in. "Technically, both Zuridan and I are far stronger than you two. We've both completed the Horde training regimen (in one way or another), and that involves going to Stonetalon."

Argam grunted, signaling that he had something to say but his brain was suffering terribly, in a valiant attempt to deliver the message in a timely fashion. Two minutes later, Argam pointed out, "When did _you _go to Stonetalon? I thought you were living in that house ever since you got dead."

"I was a goddamn _colonel_. I have more experience than any of you."

"So why don't you have to go to Stonetalon?" Argam prodded.

"Because you're both losers," Zuridan stated again.

"Because legally, I don't exist. I'm not a soldier of the New Horde, so I don't have to jump through all the burning hoops that you have to."

Argam now turned to Xan. "They're gonna make us jump through burning hoops?"

"No mon, it's just…"

"'Cause I'm flammable, you know."

Everyone took a moment to digest this. "You're flammable," Melchiah confirmed. Argam nodded vigorously, smacking a passing zombie bird with his horn. "You're easily ignited and capable of burning rapidly." Another nod. "You know this for a fact without having burned to death."

"My Uncle put it out," Argam explained. "He's a shaman."

Zuridan and Xan'Jin expected their new ally to throw down his weapons right where he stood and run away. This was Argam at his scariest, and if this wasn't enough to frighten off Melchiah, then nothing was. Instead of running away or showing fear in the slightest, he said, "That makes more sense than anything else you've said today."

Argam clapped with glee.

* * *

When their zeppelin crash-landed into the remains of the remains of Tiragarde Keep (now abandoned three times, including the mass weasel migration), Xan found that he was more happy to feel solid ground than he was to see the sun again. It had been far longer since he'd seen pure sunlight, but sunlight he could live without. If he ever had to fly on a zeppelin again, he would first try to grow wings. 

All boring details aside, the group parted ways at the Crossroads. Argam trudged northwest, with Xan slung across his back; Melchiah and Zuridan valiantly charged southwest with weapons drawn, as if they expected the entire cabal of deranged Fang druids to pop up out of the ground at any moment. Xan noticed an angry green fireball dancing after them, but he decided not to mention it. If they were gonna hog all the glory and treasure and junk, then they deserved a little visit from Zorqua.

On the opposite end of the Barrens, where barren wasteland abruptly met green grass and pine trees, Xan and Argam were assaulted by a coal-black tauren who was nothing if not frantic. "Please stop! The Grimtotem clan raided my village!"

Xan pretended he was deaf. Argam wasn't paying attention. In this fashion, they nearly ran over the agitated tauren, who flung curses at them with natural talent.

"Wait! I can reward you!" He called, and Xan continued ignoring him. A reward wasn't any good if he didn't know what the job was. Argam and Xan were nearly out of earshot when the tauren spoke the magic words. "My daughter has been kidnapped!"

Argam stopped so quickly he pitched forward and began a tumble that would be considered an impressive feat under better circumstances. Supplies, weaponry, and Xan were all flung into the air and brought abruptly back under the iron will of gravity.

Argam snapped to his feet, drawing his fishblade and leaning on it in what he thought was a heroic stance. "Might I ask for your earth name, sir?" He queried, and had Xan not already been laid sprawling in the dust, he would have been floored by Argam's change in demeanor. This wasn't even as strange as his more intelligent mood swings, because those were at least predictable.

"It is Flathoof," the tauren replied, drawing up to Xan's partner. "You look horrifyingly familiar."

"I would very much like to know what has become of Kaya," Argam spoke, with a steely voice that made Xan's left eyeball twitch.

"There isn't much I haven't said," Mr. Flathoof affirmed. "She was kidnapped in the Grimtotem raid. How do you know my daughter?"

"Tell me where they've taken her."

"Due west, beyond my poor village. I want my daughter back, and I want vengeance for my – oh my _god_." Xan didn't like the look on Mr. Flathoof's face. It was the look of someone who had just found a very good reason to kill them. "You're the young Stonehoof!"

"Xan, grab our stuff," Argam whispered, a wasted gesture since the black tauren was closer to him than Xan was.

"Oh no. Not this time!"

Xan already had three of their bags in his possession by the time Mr. Flathoof drew his axe. Argam was running, Flathoof close behind, with Xan trying desperately to catch up. Fortunately, the stocky black tauren didn't seem to notice that Xan still existed (or ever had), and just as fortunately, Xan was by now an expert runner. He caught up to Argam in five strides, swung himself onto the getaway vehicle's back, and rode off into the proverbial sunset. Argam, who had also developed a knack for running away, easily outpaced Flathoof and they were home free within minutes.

"What was all dat?" Xan asked when they were safely perched on the edge of a winding stone road. "You nail his kid or someting?"

"Almost," Argam huffed. "I was arranged to marry Kaya Flathoof since birth. We were deeply in love, until the elders of Thunder Bluff labeled me clinically insane and suspended all my contact with other tauren. Makaba took it particularly hard, like it was an insult to his family. Even though it obviously wasn't my fault, he couldn't blame the elders, so he decided to take it out on me, first by moving Kaya to Stonetalon."

"You been drinkin', mon?"

"Yes, Xan. I'm drunk. Drunk on love!" Argam, in full knight-in-shining-armor mode, then decided it would be a cool idea to leap heroically from their ledge, which was overlooking a knot of burnt-out hovels, and land amidst a gang of tough-looking tauren blacker than Makaba Flathoof. "Do you mind if I borrow you for a moment?" Argam asked Xan. "I assume you won't be doing any fighting otherwise."

"Borrow me how?" Xan couldn't even get the words out of his mouth before Argam grabbed him by the ankles and swung him into the nearest Grimtotem brute. With his other hand, Argam began cutting through another tauren with his fishblade. More vicious tauren began pouring out of the ruined houses and engaging Argam, but they couldn't even get close without being slashed to ribbons or whacked with a big blue sack of organs and bones.

Beating his way through the swarm of Grimtotem, Argam eventually found their source. Grimtotem Post sat nestled between two thick rocks, surrounded by jet-black tauren and a wanted poster superstar known as Grundig Darkcloud. Argam recognized him instantly, and shrank back behind one of the rocks to devise a plan. Even fueled by knight-in-shining-armor powers as he was, it would take more than Argam and his new bludgeon to beat all those Grimtotem _and _Grundig Darkcloud.

Xan was fighting off a mild concussion, but if he were more competent he would have told Argam to forget it and make a tactical withdrawal just like the good old days. Instead, Argam began charging up the side of the rock. Once at the zenith, he immediately ran to the other side and leapt off. Xan, who had largely regained consciousness by now, took this to mean that Argam had run out of knight-in-shining-armor juice, and was back to being stupid again.

Such was not the case. Argam managed to sail all the way onto the roof of Grimtotem Post, which tore under the weight of the exceptionally large tauren. Upon impact, Xan had been flung clear of his partner and hit the floor of the hut with a wet thud. He was pretty sure some of his organs were loose.

Argam landed on a straw bed, remarkably enough, directly on top of a young female tauren. Xan could not see much more than this, for he had been skidding across the floor and now came into contact with the fireplace.

When Xan crawled out of his hole, he found Argam pulling the woman to her feet. He didn't seem embarrassed, or nervous, or any mark of the inexperienced adventurer come upon his first DiD. Either Argam was more experienced than he let on, or this knight-in-shining-armor variant scrambled his brain more than usual.

"Oh, my…" Kaya Flathoof whispered, her fur visibly ruffled. This was obviously her first time as a DiD. "I think we've met."

"I should like to think that we've more than met, Kaya," Argam crooned, in a tone that Xan didn't know Argam's vocal chords could achieve.

"I've missed you, Argam." One word, and Kaya knew who he was. This gal was sharper than her dad. "This is incredible! You _must _have come to save me!"

"I could do nothing less, my dear."

Xan thought this was a bad conversation to interrupt, but he knew the starry-eyed tauren would agree that his news was both entirely relevant and necessary. "Turn 'round, mon." Argam turned around. Grundig Darkcloud tapped his foot impatiently.

"Are you done hosing each other down with cheese?" The imposing Grimtotem leader spoke. "Because I have time. I can wait as long as you want."

"What do you want with Kaya?" Argam roared, before Xan had the chance to ask him to wait longer.

Grundig laughed in response. "I want her to build me a shredder. What do you think?"

"I don't understand," Argam's words began to slow, and Xan was afraid he was losing it. "If you wanted her to build you a shredder, then isn't it obvious what I think?"

This didn't go over well with Grundig, but all the other Grimtotem thought it was a hoot. Grundig cleaved five chuckling heads off before continuing. "She was the only woman worth taking from that pathetic village."

"Sure!" Kaya cut in. "You mean I'm the only woman that didn't get away!" Grundig didn't take this too well either.

Xan was trying to silently urge them to be quiet, but Argam and Kaya were now the stars of their own drama. They were beyond his influence. Xan wanted to crawl back into the fireplace and hide for awhile.

"I've got the two of you right where I want you," Grundig assured, trying to compose himself with some counter-banter. "You're powerless against me and my warriors!"

Xan suddenly realized that nobody was noticing him. They were all too caught up in the heat of the moment to pay attention to some wormy little troll sprawled on the floor. An idea sprang into his head, one that would either turn out to be really fun, or it would get him killed. Such is the way of life.

"We finish this, Darkcloud! Here and now!" Argam bellowed.

"I'm ready when you are, runt!" Grundig shot back.

"You can do it, Argam! I believe in you!" Kaya encouraged.

"I hope your woman isn't so _loud _in bed!" Grundig taunted.

"Leave Kaya out of this!" Argam shouted.

"Enough talk! Let's fight!" Grundig lunged forward, drawing a twin pair of swords. However, as soon as he went into motion, he pitched over and crashed to the floor. Out of the back of his neck, a dagger hilt waggled tauntingly.Suddenly, there was a troll standing where Grundig Darkcloud once was, and this troll was now the most fearsome creature this side of the mountain. The Grimtotem all scattered, partially because their leader had just gotten a pat on the back by a knife, but mostly because a ghost had materialized before their eyes.

Argam stumbled over to Xan, acting as if an ogre wearing steel-toed boots had just fallen from the stratosphere onto his testicles.

"That completely ruined my moment," Argam remarked, watching in dull amazement as Xan pulled his knife out of Grundig's back. "We were having _banter_. I was about to duel over a _woman_!"

"An' all dem Grimtotems was 'bout to be cookin' shaman stew."

By now, Kaya had emerged from the hut. Xan was struck, once again, by the similarities between Horde women and human women. Kaya certainly looked more like a human in a cow costume than a tauren. Maybe…

"Can you take me to Sunrock Retreat?" Kaya asked Argam stiffly. Apparenly shehad beenhaving fun with the intensity of theconfrontation as well, and she was irked that Xancut thescene short."I want to see my aunt Tammra again."

"What of your father?" Argam queried in response. "Surely he's worried about you."

Kaya wrinkled her nose. "He can worry, then. He was a coward; he ran like all the others."

"Xan?" Argam called. Gruffly, Xan turned his attentions to the big lug. "Report to Makaba Flathoof for me, would you? Tell him Kaya's okay, and you can get your reward for killing Grundig."

"But won' he recognize me?"

Argam chewed on this for a moment. Then, "I don't think he was paying attention to you."

Xan gave up. "Why should he?"

**End**

**AN: There was a little treat for fans of the Mars Volta in the beginning of this chapter. If you caught it, then cool. If not, then I suggest you educate yourselves in the ways of TMV.**


	16. Highway Child

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 16 – Highway Child**

By Genoscythe

* * *

"I fail to see the logic in, well…_any _of this."

"I don't look for logic anymore. You're never going to find it."

"Why doesn't this guy just wake up?"

"Because he's in a scary nightmare coma. And without the daring rescue, where's the adventure?"

"The adventure is in slaughtering armies of mutated dream monsters and crazy elves. Besides, we can't have a daring rescue if we're rescuing a _man_. Why couldn't Naralex have been a damsel in distress?"

"Well…we can put some makeup on him before he wakes up." All fighting halted. The cavern grew quiet. Melchiah lowered his sword. The druid they were currently engaged in seemed to momentarily regain his sanity just to gawk at Zuridan. "What? He's a Night Elf. I swear, you'll never know the difference."

Melchiah shook his head piteously, casually stabbing through the astounded druid's skull and pacing around the orc. "Are you always a freak, or are you just bad at first impressions?"

"I was just suggesting, is all…" Zuridan offered by way of apology. During the course of their banter, they had slain their way deeper and deeper into a seemingly endless myriad of tunnels, each becoming more mysterious and exotic than the last. At the outset, they were surrounded by solid earth. Now, if not for the rock over their heads, they would think they had run into a jungle. Strange, alien ferns poked out at them from all angles. Zuridan wanted to bring some back to Orgrimmar for analysis, but Melchiah insisted that this idea was crap and thus proceeded to rub his fingers against each and every plant they found.

If either of them had measured their trip through the caverns, they would know that they were almost underneath the Stonetalon Mountains. But they won't find that out for a while yet.

* * *

"Hide!"

Immediately, Xan dissolved into thin air while Kaya and Argam both ducked behind trees. Being tauren, this was one of the most horribly executed hiding-behind-a-tree maneuvers in the history of Azeroth. Amazingly, the paladin riding by didn't notice. He was busy hammering in a Forsaken rogue's skull, who was trying desperately to outrun the paladin's armored mount. When that failed, he turned and stabbed at the rider. His knives slid off the paladin, either due to excellent plate armor or a so-called divine shield.

Xan had a theory about this 'Light' that the Alliance so highly praised.

The Light was in fact the work of Satan. This was apparent enough through every single paladin's complete lack of moral judgment, but even more prudent was the evidence that paladins cannot die. People who believe in God die all the time, so it stands to reason that paladins were under the unwilling/willing influence of the Prince of Darkness. Xan was sure he could find more proof, but he far more valued his life.

There was that one Arthas fellow. But none of that now. Xan had a retreat to organize!

Signaling to Argam and Kaya, Xan began sneaking off down the road. Then he stopped when he realized that Argam and Kaya couldn't have possibly seen the signal, so he turned around, became visible, signaled, _then _continued sneaking. The paladin wasn't paying attention, anyway. He was busy gloating over the corpse of a freshly recruited rogue.

"So…back at Grimtotem Post," Argam began, once they were out of the paladin's earshot. "How did you manage to turn invisible like that?"

Xan blinked. "I didn't, mon. I jus' walked up behind him an' BAM." The troll pulled out his dagger and made a stabbing motion for emphasis.

"…and none of us saw you."

"'parently not."

"Now I _really _feel like an ass."

"As you should." Xan thumped his chest, coincidentally with the hand that held his dagger. Fortunately, Argam was in a clear enough state of mind to heal him. When recovered, Xan sheathed his dagger and continued undaunted. "Joo can' _always_ come to Papa Xan when joo need savin'."

"Is your accent changing?" Argam asked.

"Crap. I be startin' to sound like _my _papa," Xan mused. Really, it was the final phases of troll puberty completing their course, wreaking havoc on his vocal chords in a way that was only noticeable through accent. Of course, Xan would never tell _them _that.

"Can we hurry, please?" Kaya urged. The sun's shift was over, and now the moon was just getting his time card stamped. "I'm worried about my aunt."

"Why?" Argam queried, shooting her an amazingly concerned glance.

"You'll see," Kaya replied cryptically. They were now moving slightly uphill, and lights could be seen in the distance. However, they didn't look like the lights of Sunrock Retreat. They looked more like torches in a tent camp, and not Horde torches either. These were dainty, small numbers made of a lifeless type of wood found only on the Eastern Continent.

"Is dat what I tink it is?" Xan muttered, craning his neck higher. The two Horde soldiers and one Horde citizen eventually passed right by the cluster of tents, and humans sat in the meager torchlight, raising mugs and sneering at them as they passed. Argam and Xan looked to Kaya for an answer.

"This our land now," one of the men spoke, in a twisted form of Orcish. He got to his feet, set his mug aside, and held out a hand. He wore a cloth tunic, leather pants, and no weapon. _What da hell…_

Xan stared down the human, who in return stared down Xan. The rugged man won almost instantly. "Where's all your armor? Your weapons? Why aren't you attacking us?" Argam asked logically.

The human laughed, a barking expulsion of air that got Xan's dagger finger twitching. "No need armor. No need weapons. Tired. Long day killing Horde." The man leaned forward and pushed Argam squarely in the chest. To Xan's astonishment, Argam actually stumbled backward. "You live now. We wait for morning."

"What are they _doing _here?" Argam asked Kaya in Taurahe. "We can't take you to Sunrock with a legion of paladins sitting right outside."

Kaya shrugged. "This is how we live. Sometimes they kill us, sometimes they get bored of it and just steal our drinks."

"I speak Taurahe too," the human remarked toothily. "Kill _lots _of tauren." Argam's fishblade swung down quickly, but Xan still managed to catch it by the fins before it impacted with the human's skull.

"We savin' dis for tomorrow, 'k mon?" he spoke levelly. Argam didn't nod, or respond in the normal manner of responding. He simply snorted a huge gust of air into Xan's face and lowered the fishblade. The paladin broke out into another maddening fit of laughter.

"Sweet dreams," he said, and Xan could tell he had perfected this phrase in Orcish.

* * *

"Just because you don't get tired doesn't mean I don't," Zuridan huffed, nestling up against a fern that Melchiah hadn't been quick enough to dissolve. "We must have been down here for hours."

"You're overreacting."

"Let me get some sleep, that's all."

"You'll have plenty of time to sleep when you're dead."

"Then how come you never sleep?"

"I don't get tired, remember?"

"But then…nevermind." Zuridan closed his eyes for a split second, and then he was being shaken by what appeared to be a stick. The stick was slowly dissolving in Melchiah's hand, so he was poking vigorously to get the most use out of it.

"Wake up. Something's watching us," the Forsaken whispered.

"I'm tired. Lemme sleep."

"You've been asleep for two hours."

"And I'm still tired." Zuridan was about to shift away and return to dreamland, but the whiff of brimstone set off every alarm in his thick leathery head. He bolted up, lost his balance, nearly fell into Melchiah's cursed arms, and bellowed a demonic swear that he knew Zorqua would understand.

The glowing green fireball, partially obscured by an outcropping rock, skittered away into the darkness. Zuridan blinked in surprise. Usually, his minions were suicidal in their attempts to kill him. _So why is he running away now?_

"Let's keep moving," Melchiah suggested.

"Muh," Zuridan replied, and sat back down.

"Those druids are going to find us sooner or later. You don't have any more time to sleep."

"Muuuuuuh."

"I won't wake you up if that little snot ball comes back."

Zuridan closed his eyes. "You can deal with him yourself."

"I can, but I won't."

Zuridan opened one eye again. "You bastard."

Shortly after, they were on the move again. A group of druids accidentally stumbled upon them, and as they were being dispatched, Zuridan began pulling an ethereal purple mist out of one of them. The mist congealed into a crystal in the palm of his hand, which he then spun on his index finger.

"What do you need a soul shard for?" Melchiah asked.

"I'm still tired," Zuridan grunted. "I'm making a healthstone." He felt like he was missing something, making some sort of horrible mistake, but the miasma of fatigue kept his brain sedated.

"Well, make it quick," Melchiah intoned. However, the purple crystal was no longer in Zuridan's hands. "That was fast."

"I didn't…" The orc's face slowly sagged as realization struck him like a slippery kipper. "Oh _hell _no!" Melchiah now saw a sphere of purple light hovering in the air down the hall. The light flickered and danced between columns of rock, until it disappeared completely. Zuridan heaved a massive sigh, but nearly choked when a pair of fiery white eyes materialized in his face.

Helmon let out a noise that was part hiss, part growl. Melchiah cursed and drew his sword. Zuridan fell backwards, crabbing backward until his spine impacted with stone. The smoky beast seemed even larger, more intimidating than it had when Zuridan first summoned it. It also now had an imp sitting on its head, and that didn't help matters at all.

* * *

Xan was alone now, all the better to say his prayers and ask that his father be struck down by some freak accident one last time. Argam had left to return Kaya to her aunt, after Xan had almost needled her to death about joining their cadre of miscreants. Argam whacked him over the head with the tail end of his fishblade.

Xan sat on a rock in the midst of a pond, alternately soaking his worn feet and rubbing his pulsating head with cold water. He was enjoying the deathly silent town/post/giant tent that passed for a retreat. It was nice, as long as he didn't think about the fact that more than half of its inhabitants were dead.

"Hey, hey, hey!" A voice that could only belong to a goblin piped up from somewhere on the shore. "You look young, spry, and adventurous!"

"Young? Ja. Spry? Mebbe. Adventurous? Keep lookin', mon."

"Nonsense. Fizziks. Ziz Fizziks." Fizziks then instinctively tried to shake hands with Xan, and ended up splashing in the water. Xan wondered if it was physically possible for a goblin to introduce himself without following it up with a handshake. Doubtful.

"Xan'Jin, masta…screw it, jus' Xan'Jin."

"Xan'Jin, I'm in a little bit of a pickle."

"I bet."

"I've been sent by the Tinkers' Union to, uh, _check in _on the Venture Company outfit up here."

"So?"

Ziz Fizziks lit a cigar, visible only as a red dot hovering in front of his face. "Terrible what the Venture Company has done here, eh?" he said, changing the subject tactfully.

"What'd dey do?"

"They hired a gnome! Goblin company hiring a gnome! What were they thinking?"

"Well, gnomes…"

"Shut up for a minute son, that was a rhetorical question." Fizziks expunged a massive cloud of smoke, briefly lighting up the night sky. "Sputtervalve tells me they built some enormous woodcutting machine, and Sput' wants me to steal the plans for him. Unfortunately, Gerenzo – bloody gnome – wants me dead on sight. I was thinkin'…you could steal the plans for me."

"And…?" Xan hoped, being a goblin, Fizziks would know where he was going with this.

"I'm sanctioned by the New Horde." He did. "Besides, all the normal trainers here got…" At this, Fizziks made a slashing motion across his throat. "So you get the usual treatment. Bagful of coins, and brownie points with Thrall and Cairne. You get me?"

"I get joo, mon." Xan nodded thoughtfully, though he really had no thinking to do. "Joo gonna be here?"

Fizziks chuckled. "No way. How do you think I survived this long? I'll be in my hut at the edge of Windshear Crag. And don't keep me waiting, okay champ?" The silhouette of Ziz Fizziks began bobbing off into the distance, just as a much larger, more tauren-shaped shape was closing in on the pond. As the two silhouettes passed each other, the smaller one cried out and stumbled.

Argam parked his mass just at the edge of the pond, where Fizziks had been only moments ago.

"What'd joo do, mon?"

"Stepped on his foot." Argam was wearing a massive, oafish grin that signified he was back to his old self. "Can I swim too?"

"Uh…don' see why not."

With that, Argam fell forward much like a door would if its hinges were placed on the bottom. His legs remained on the shore, but his torso was floating slack in the pond and seemed to be disinclined to move.

"Got us a goblin keelin' job," Xan remarked offhandedly. Argam immediately flopped around, so that now his ears and mouth were out of the water but an obscene amount of liquid had been flung in all directions as a result.

"But I don't want to keel goblins. I want to kill them." Anyone who didn't know Argam as well as Xan did would assume he was making a joke.

"Don' worry. Get some sleep. We deal wit' da goblins tomorrow." Xan now shook the dust out of his hat, which made a small mountain at the bottom of the pond. He was waiting for Argam to leave, so he could have a dramatic monologue whilst staring up into the stars. Argam did no such thing, and Xan finally realized that he was asleep in the water. The troll sighed, hopped off his rock, grabbed the soaking tauren by the ankle and hauled him partway up the shore.

Pulling a completely dry, normal-sized tauren was a punishment in Hell reserved only for traitors and rapists. Dragging a soaked, giant tauren out of a pond and across the field to the inn was nigh-impossible. Xan just made sure Argam wouldn't drown himself, then left him in the field to get some shut-eye of his own.

**End**

**AN: Sorry Wraithsoldier, Xan hasn't gone through puberty in the way you want him to. I've been wanting to change up his accent a bit for a while, make it more troll-ish. But really, who would Xan'Jin be if not a coward?**


	17. Stone Cold Crazy

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 17 – Stone Cold Crazy**

By Genoscythe

* * *

While waiting for the signal from Argam, Xan'Jin contemplated why he put Argam in charge of spying on the 'campers' (as named by the residents of Sunrock Retreat) in the first place. Xan was quieter, he was smarter, smaller, less noticeable, less likely to forget what he was doing and try to make conversation with the paladins, and he could turn invisible. 

But then he remembered that Argam was the designated meat shield, and if any shit of any type were to go down at any time, Xan wanted to have Argam between him and the shit (whatever it may be). The tauren was now scrabbling up the side of a cliff, trying to get a better view of the campers. Xan was hiding under the corpse of a guard, keeping one eye on Argam and one on the column of smoke from around the bend.

Atop the cliff, Argam peered off into the distance. A moment later, he was jumping and waving his arms about like a retard in an aerobics class.

That was definitely the signal.

Xan got out from underneath the smelly corpse, and waited for his partner to make it back down. Argam walked to the edge of the cliff and slammed his hoof into the dry dirt, shooting a crack through the entire rock face. The side of the cliff tumbled down, with Argam on top of it. Out of the dust, he walked calmly with the air of one who had just defied fate and gotten away with it.

"What'd joo see?" Xan asked immediately.

"They're all gone," Argam replied. "They left their things, too."

Xan lowered his head and fingered his chin, hoping this made him look like he was thinking deeply. As he did this, something rushed by them and nearly blew his hat away. He looked up to find a Forsaken mage, recently arrived via wyvern, heading for the road. He was turning right, probably heading down the mountain to the Windshear Crag. However, as he rounded the corner, a hammer swung out from behind the rock wall and took his head off.

"They're still here," Argam informed Xan.

Fifteen minutes later, Xan was pacing the width of Sunrock Retreat vigorously, in his deep thinking posture. He had suggested that Argam take five and visit Kaya, since he seemed to be more useful when a woman was involved. That had turned into a take fifteen, but since Xan still didn't have a plan he decided to let it slide.

A strange mewling filled the air, and Xan was making ready to yell at it when he saw what it was that was mewling. The wyvern that the mage had ridden in on had apparently taken a liking to the Forsaken, and it was now expressing its eternal anguish in the form of a piteous sound.

As heart-wrenching and disgustingly sad as this was, it gave Xan an opportunity that he desperately needed to exploit. The only hitch in his plan was getting Argam, and Xan would hang himself before he would witness two tauren going at it (like he thought Argam and Kaya were doing).

So, he waited. The wyvern mewled. A rhythmic string of impacts could be heard and felt from not too far away. Xan died a little inside.

Another fifteen minutes later, he saw in the distance an object rolling along the ground toward him. It was long, gray, and lopsided due to the protrusion of bone on one end. The object rolled closer, kicking up a mighty swirl of dust around as it stopped at his feet. If Xan asked why Argam was rolling on the ground instead of walking like a normal sentient being, he would first have to get rid of all the vomit he had been holding in his throat for the past fifteen minutes.

"Xan, I'm happy," Argam murmured, looking up at the troll from his position on the ground. "Content, even."

Xan just nodded, and gave a thumbs-up.

"Do you know why I'm happy, Xan?"

It was too late, there was no going back now.

"I'll tell you."

Xan held out his hands, trying to establish a telepathic link with Argam so he could tell him to stop.

"Kaya and I _both _got happy. All over the place."

Xan then vomited. All over the place.

After washing out his mouth and erasing half an hour's worth of memories, Xan was finally ready to share his daring escape plan with Argam.

"See dat wyvern?" Xan asked, pointing to the tormented creature hobbling about Sunrock, which a very flustered Kaya was now petting.

"Yes. It looks sad. Unlike me."

That cost Xan another five minutes' worth of memories.

"We gonna ride dat thing right over da campers' heads."

"But they only fly to cities. We're still killing goblins today, aren't we?"

"Ja," Xan gave a toothy, maniacal grin. "We be keelin' goblins today."

* * *

"Halt, in the name of…Lord…Pythas?" One of the druid leaders that the Fang spy told them about seemed very confused that Zuridan and Melchiah were running right past him, but moments later his skull was punched in by an angry voidwalker so his opinion no longer mattered. 

Zuridan had long ago tuned out Melchiah, who spent the entire chase berating Zuridan and his stupidity without pause. A total lack of respiratory functions helped him accomplish this.

"If you knew he could summon himself, then _why did you make a soul shard?_"

Zuridan didn't have the breath to reply, so he just ran faster. They entered a maze of small corridors, the floors of which were covered with snakes. However, as soon as they noticed the huge voidwalker gliding toward them, they slithered away with the kind of haste one usually sees in legged animals.

Zorqua fired off a few shots at the retreating soldiers, but imps are terrible shots to begin with and Helmon's constant bobbing didn't help matters.

They ran from corridor to corridor, sometimes backtracking on themselves and nearly getting caught by the demons. Zuridan felt ridiculous, but he was cool with it as long as he could still feel at all. There was no stopping the voidwalker; Melchiah had already tried touching it (hoping that the monster would disintegrate like all non-sentient creatures), but since being a demon is about as cursed as one can get, the Forsaken's hex had no effect on it.

After running across another pathway, Zuridan caught sight of a group of humans and what appeared to be a deformed brown wolf. Both groups halted, and the tallest human, a shaggy fellow with a goatee, pointed at Zuridan. Zuridan returned the gesture, and they all stood completely still for a good three seconds before Helmon and Zorqua came barreling down the row of pathways.

The Horde soldiers and the humans ran in different directions, never to see each other again.

* * *

The wyvern, promised its share of human blood, kicked off the parched earth and soared through the canyon. At the sound of the commotion, the campers all wandered out of their hiding spots to have a look. The wyvern's tail caught one in the chest, and Xan began a whoop of triumph that died when he saw ten healing spells immediately patch up the gaping wound. 

The lion/scorpion/bat creature was turning around for another pass, but Xan reined it in and sent it in the direction of Windshear Crag. As much as he wanted to hassle the campers some more, he _didn't_ want to test Satan's patience by trying to kill His loyal followers. Not that he could, but Xan still liked to fantasize.

By wyvern, it only took a few seconds to reach the Venture Company's deforestation operation. However, Xan almostfell offthe beastwhen he saw the enormous woodcutting machine that he had been so foolishly tasked with stealing the blueprints for. Sitting in the midst of a half-excavated bowl, it was the stuff of nightmares (and Xan vaguely recalled having a nightmare featuring a similar machine, although it was a biomechanical rabbit), all saw blades and treads and sharp bits.

"Xan, I don't think I can carry that," Argam muttered.

"We be stealin' da plans, notin' else," Xan corrected wearily. Already, several goblins and dwarves on the machine's scaffolding were jumping about and alerting their friends. All this annoying noise spurred Argam's innate goblin-killing drive, and with a vicious moo, he unslung his fishblade and vaulted off the back of the wyvern.

The wyvern flexed, glad to be rid of the weight; sighed, and crashed headlong through the window of the woodcutting machine's cockpit. As it tumbled over the control panel, its flailing scorpion tail skewered the goblin operator and the impact flung Xan into the ceiling. Four and a half seconds later, when gravity peeled the troll off of the ceiling, he got up to find the wyvern lying very still against the far wall. It let out one final meow, content that it would now be with its beloved mage.

Xan dispatched the other goblin operator with pathetic ease, and went to work looking for blueprints. Blueprints, blueprints, blueprints…goblin porn? The entirety of the drawers beneath the control panels were filled with stubby green centerfolds, and nothing more. Sure, Xan knew what it was like to be lonely, but this…

He tore the cockpit apart looking for the blueprints, which was unnecessary since there was nothing _in _the cockpit apart from controls, gauges, knobs, levers, meters, and a seemingly endless cache of goblin pornography. Every few seconds, the machine would rock violently whenever Argam made a swing with his fishblade. Then, the impacts abruptly stopped. Xan stopped too, as a pause in Argam's rage mode could only be bad.

However, the door to the cockpit swung open and Argam shoved his giant body through the goblin/dwarf/gnome/human-sized doorway.

"Xan, I found a piece of paper. It's blue!" Argam shook his head, and the blueprints – formerly speared on Argam's horn – fluttered to the ground. "Can we leave now?"

"Ja," Xan muttered, shoving the blueprints in his backpack and quietly cursing because he once again proved himself useless. The two of them squeezed through the door and onto the scaffolding wrapped around the Super Reaper 6000 (as the blueprints designated it).

_"You! The troll and the tauren!" _A tinny, high-pitched voice echoed across Windshear Crag from the direction of the forest and their escape route. Xan turned to look, and found an unofficial army of Venture Company loggers standing between them and the road to Sunrock Retreat. One of the loggers, a scarred gnoll, had a megaphone and was enjoying its use tremendously.

_"You are TRESSPASSING on Venture Company lands! You have KILLED several of our workers, and you SEEM to be STEALING the blueprints for that fine MASTERPIECE of woodcutting design! Do you have ANYTHING to say for yourselves before I personally tear out your eyeballs and keep your skulls as SEX TOYS?"_

"Get back in da cockpit," Xan muttered out the side of his mouth. Both he and Argam began walking backwards (inconspicuously, of course) toward relative safety.

_"HEY! Hiding in the cockpit was NOT an OPTION!"_ The gnoll bellowed. He was bent low, shuddering as if out of breath. Xan hoped that if they kept ignoring his warnings, he would asphyxiate himself. At the moment, they were inside the thick metal cockpit; they and the Venture Company loggers were at a stalemate.

"What should we do now?" One of the Venture Company workers mused.

"Hurl insults at them!" Another suggested.

"Let's protest!" Yet another cried out. Within seconds, he had produced a sign reading GIVE US BACK OUR BLUEPRINTS and began waving it around. The other workers all began making signs of their own, until the gnoll pulled out a flintlock pistol and sent a rough ball of iron through the instigating protestor's head.

"What should we do now?" Argam asked as they nestled down in the cockpit with back issues of _Wet Sprockets_.

"Hurl insults at 'em?" Xan asked jokingly, until he realized that Argam thought he was serious. "Notin' we _can _do," he intoned, happily stabbing through page after page of goblin 'models'. "Dey got food, beds, numbers, an' guns. We got green midget porn."

"Not for long," Argam responded, who was tearing entire magazines in half.

"Don' waste it," Xan reprimanded. "Joo tear 'em all up now, joo gonna get bored later."

"That's okay. Just seeing these things lying around makes Moradon angry."

"Who?"

"He's – "

"Hold it," Xan interrupted, getting to his feet. "I got it, mon. We can drive dis ting out!"

Argam got to his hooves as well. "You know how to drive it?"

Xan picked up the blueprints, scanned them within fifteen seconds, then set them down. "Ja."

"Well, then let's do it!"

Xan walked over to one of the control consoles, hoping it looked like he knew what he was doing. He pulled a lever. One of the saw-blade arms lowered itself. He pushed a button instead. The saw-blade began spinning. He moved to a completely different control panel and twisted a knob. One of the gauges went up, but otherwise no reaction. He then got a tap on the shoulder from Argam that felt more like a roundhouse punch, and his attention was directed to the big throttle in the very center of the console that was dubiously marked 'DRIVE' in big, neon yellow letters.

The Venture Company workers were getting understandably nervous, seeing the big saw ripping up dirt like nobody's business. The gnoll was even more worried than the others, because unlike the others he knew that the ground under their feet had been hollowed out and used as a lair by some giant plant monster named Verdan the Everliving. This was what prompted the foreman to turn their mining operation into a logging operation in the first place.

Unfortunately, Xan and Argam didn't know this either. So when Xan put the throttle in the 'GO' position, after having twisted the speedomoknobber to its maximum…speedomoknob…the Super Reaper 6000 kicked off and plunged itself into the side of the bowl dug back when the Venture Company thought they were making a mining operation.

Earth churned, saw blades spun, and the weary ground slowly began sagging in on itself. Verdan the Everliving was not happy about it.

* * *

Zuridan and Melchiah were sick of running, but it seemed to do the trick. They had inadvertently killed all the minor Fang Lords during their chase through the Wailing Caverns, either due to Helmon's blind rage or an accidental slip of the sword or knife. However, it looked like the chase was over. 

An especially nasty-looking Night Elf stood atop the incline before them; the spy had identified him as Lord Serpentis.

"Foolish adventurers!" Serpentis boomed. His voice quivered a bit when he saw that they weren't intimidated, but he seemed to be determined to power through his speech anyway. "Have you come to witness the power of the mighty serpent lord?"

"I love these guys," Melchiah muttered as they charged. "They make you feel good about how sane you are."

Zuridan wanted to come up with another piece of witty banter, but he was half-dead from exhaustion and he was afraid that if he opened his mouth his lungs would implode. Even so, he managed to cast a weak Immolate spell on Serpentis to get him to shut up and maybe kindly die for them as well.

The serpent lord's hair caught fire, but he quickly put it out. They were now within striking distance, so Zuridan dove past Serpentis's first staff swing and collapsed on the ground behind him. Melchiah made a jab with his sword, but Serpentis jumped back. The Forsaken lunged, and this time the Night Elf ducked and came up behind Melchiah.

He was about to cast an unspeakably generic evil spell on the two Horde soldiers, but then he was swept aside by a big foggy purple hand. The Fang Lord was thrown all the way back into a massive cavern to their right, and despite his cursing, they paid him no more heed.

Helmon rushed them, and Melchiah met the attack with his shield first. Zuridan followed soon after, swinging his staff and knocking Zorqua off his perch. Helmon attempted to push the Forsaken aside so he could strangle the weakened orc, but Melchiah refused to do anything of the sort.

During this brief power struggle, Zuridan noticed several rocks coming loose from the ceiling and pattering on the ground. He also noticed that Serpentis was prostrate on the floor of the massive cavern and chanting in a way that made Zuridan feel not good. After several seconds of chanting, vines and tendrils of branches began creeping toward him from the walls and floor. These vines kept coming, multiplying in number and wrapping themselves around Serpentis's body until he was five times Zuridan's height and fifty times as deadly-looking. This new aberration had arms like (and made of) tree trunks, and a disturbing multi-eyed head that made Zuridan wonder where the eyes came from.

Then, to his utter horror, Helmon threw Melchiah into the chamber with the Serpentis vine monster. Against all logic, Zuridan ran in after him.

The number of rocks falling from the ceiling had now increased and grown into boulders. A heavy thudding, scraping sound could be heard from somewhere above. Zuridan hoped it was divine intervention, finally paying its debts.

The vine monster had Melchiah in a squeezing death grip. Melchiah was too busy keeping his hands off the thing to try and escape, and Zuridan found that his supplies of mana were utterly spent. With Helmon drawing closer and Zorqua finally getting up from the shadow of the vine thing, Zuridan knew he was, at last, completely screwed.

At least, until the giant metal razorblade-equipped tank fell through the ceiling and onto the vine monster's back. The huge tank's saw-blade instantly turned vines, branches and leaves into a fine mist. Half of the Serpentis vine monster was crushed under the machine, and the other half was lying on the other side of the chamber with its body rapidly decomposing.

As soon as it hit the ground, the tank cracked, popped, bent over, and came apart at the seams. Out of one of these seams came Xan'Jin, Argam Stonehoof, and a whole mess of goblin pornography. Helmon took one look at the covers and began running his claws along his face, attempting to scratch out his ethereal white eyeballs. As he did so, the magic binding his foggy body seemed to alleviate, and he was soon a swirling pool of mist gathering at the bottom of the cavern.

Xan and Argam lay still in the mountain of dirty magazines, gasping for air and thinking up a new deity to pray to. Zuridan soon joined them, and he decided that goblin pornography made quite a comfortable bed. Melchiah hobbled out of the mess that used to be Verdan the Everliving's torso, saw his teammates asleep in the pile of goblin porn, scoffed, and went looking for a new place to brood.

At that instant, for a completely unrelated reason, Naralex woke up. He had had enough of sleep, and realized that he could just wake up from the Emerald Dream at any time. He wandered the caverns, musing over what his dreams had done to the place. Then, as he came upon his favorite meditating spot, he found three Horde soldiers that had seemingly fallen asleep in the middle of reading a stash of goblin pornography.

Naralex was horrified. He jumped to the conclusion that, by waking from the Emerald Dream, he had doomed the rest of the world's inhabitants to sleep forever. Of course, if Melchiah were there, he would tell him that this idea was crap, and that he was overreacting. Being a Night Elf, Naralex didn't know what it meant to overreact. So he slit his throat, hoping that doing so would awaken the world from its eternal slumber. As he died on the remains of his favorite pet, Naralex saw the troll stir, yawn, and move to a more comfortable position.

_Thank Cenarion,_ thought Naralex. _They're saved._

**End**

**AN: And so ends my single most favoritest chapter to date (and will probably never be topped, but who's to know?). Thanks to all my reviewers, and thanks to the random hand of fate for putting me in the right mood to write this chapter.**


	18. Viva la Revolucion!

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 18 – Viva la Revolucion!**

By Genoscythe

AN: I know, another chapter already. This one's not too meaty, but I think it turned out rather humorous, and in such a short time I think we came out of this pretty well. Enjoy.

* * *

Sir Lawrence Proudswamp leaned against the cliff face just around the corner from Sunrock Retreat, content that the nagging little voice inside his head that told him he had just brutally murdered an innocent sentient being was quiet. The Voice (he'd heard talk of a disease called 'conscience' before that had similar symptoms), he found, just couldn't compete with logic. 

That logic being the _other _voice in his head telling him that anything that wasn't human had to die.

Speaking of non-humans, Sir Lawrence spotted what appeared to be another Forsaken hobbling up the road. It looked like he was injured, for he was limping horribly to one side, and he appeared to be unarmed. Lawrence chuckled to himself and hefted his mace, while Voice number one cried foul and Voice number two cheered him on.

Lawrence signaled to the two nearby paladins that he was pursuing a straggler, and began walking leisurely toward the injured Forsaken. His hair was dark and feathery, his jaw all glistening bone. Lawrence almost faltered when he saw the Undead's wicked claws, protruding from skinless, gloveless hands. Then he remembered that he was a paladin, and that God obviously wanted this Forsaken dead.

However, as he drew closer, he bumped into something he didn't see before. That something became a troll, and that troll raised two fingers and poked Lawrence in the eyes. Lawrence didn't like this, so he started swinging his mace around wildly.

"Oh, we got a wise guy, huh?" Lawrence taunted, feeling his mace crunch against something hard. By the time he realized that he had only hit the side of the cliff, there was a dagger sticking out of his throat.

Sir Howard Montesquieu heard the commotion, and thought Larry could use a hand. He beckoned for Sir Charles "Curly" Shempfield, and together they rounded the corner. As soon as they did, a roiling bolt of green and black energy whipped past their heads and collided with the rocks above them. Like a complete stooge, Sir Montesquieu stumbled backward, trying to elbow Curly out of the way. Curly felt insulted, and shoved back. Montesquieu slapped Sir Curly across the face, which Curly retaliated by slamming his mace on Montesquieu's toes.

The two paladins then embroiled themselves in a vicious contest to see who was the bigger dumbass; slapping, punching, kicking each other whilst a small contingent of boulders crashed down on their heads and ended the nincompoopery rather abruptly. The Horde soldiers were actually sad to see them go, for it was the funniest bit of physical comedy they'd ever seen that they weren't directly involved in.

The deaths of the three imbeciles had caused quite a stir from the body of the campers, and now more paladins were marching toward them. However, Xan and Zuridan were brandishing issues of _Wet Sprockets _and _Harem: Goblin Edition_. Two magazines were flung at the leading paladins, and they immediately swallowed their tongues in disgust.

_Dat's right…_Xan thought to himself as he distributed more porn. _No shield fo' joo eyes, huh? Can' heal a wounded brain!_ The ranks of the campers were in complete disarray. The true killers of the group wanted to continue the charge, but they were blocked by the sheer mass of armor in their way. Now it was Argam's turn, if he had stayed awake this long.

Only one paladin saw it coming, and he had just enough time to cast a divine shield as the giant saw-blade rolled off the side of the cliff above them. It landed in the center of the flock, shredding at least five paladins on contact. The saw teetered for half a second as the screaming humans went silent, then crashed down on the bulk of the group. Only those standing uphill had survived, and they now turned and fled right into the militia whipped up by Kaya Flathoof.

* * *

_Earlier…_

"Well, this is…unprecedented."

"What, that we succeeded?"

"Succeeded is hardly the term I would use."

"We killed the Fang Leaders."

"Naralex is _dead_!"

"And so are all the other purple bastards," Melchiah finished with a grin. Tonga Runetotem gave Argam a look that said 'Where did you find this creep?'

"We did what you asked," Argam responded. "We got rid of the taint."

"But it's just not supposed to happen this way!" Tonga was more flustered by the idea that they technically _had _saved the Barrens, though it was in the most half-assed way possible. "You were supposed to defeat the Fang Lords, wake up Naralex, and learn a valuable lesson about, say, teamwork. You _did _learn a valuable lesson, didn't you?"

Xan looked at Zuridan, who looked at Melchiah, who had no choice but to look at Argam, who was staring intently at something dead and fuzzy in his hand. Finally, Xan stepped up and looked back at Tonga.

"Goblin porn be good for sometin'."

Tonga's face seemed to tighten, and a single bead of sweat rolled down his head. "Please, _please _don't tell me how you learned a thing like that."

"Fine," Zuridan muttered, a bit put-off. "It makes a hell of a story, though."

"Honestly, I don't know what to do."

"Give us the reward, and we can all pretend this never happened," Melchiah suggested.

"Uh…o-okay…" Tonga's world had obviously been shattered. His illusion that all soldiers of the Horde were valiant, honorable, mighty warriors was now thrown out the window. Looking as one does after having witnessed a mass murder, Tonga pulled a curved sword from his satchel and tossed it to Melchiah, whom he assumed would make the best use of it.

Melchiah jerked back as if the blade were infested with a disease (assuming Melchiah cared about a little bacteria), letting it drop to the dusty ground and only adding to Tonga Runetotem's list of Things that Confuse Him.

"I can't take it," Melchiah said simply. He then cast about for someone else to dump the sword on, and found only Xan. "You. It's all yours."

"My name?" Xan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's, it's…Zim."

"You _forgot _our names already?" Argam asked, showing an undue amount of disbelief.

"Hey, even when I had a fully-functional brain I wasn't any good with names."

"Xan'Jin." the troll patted himself on the chest. "Argam Stonehoof." Xan pointed to Argam. "Zuri –"

"I know Zuridan," Melchiah cut in, showing vague signs of being pissed off like the ethereal smoke creeping through his jaws. "It's all yours, _Xan_."

"I can' use swords."

"Then I'll teach you how."

"Too much work."

"Will all of you please _leave_!" Tonga bellowed, throwing his arms out for emphasis. "I have a lot to think about right now, and the mere sight of you makes me want to kill something!"

"Wait," Argam said as they turned to go. His voice indicated a shift in gears to knight-in-shining-armor mode. "Sunrock Retreat is under constant siege by the Alliance. Can we have some reinforcements to take care of the threat?"

"Talk with Sergra Darkthorn about that," Tonga scoffed. "Better yet, I'll save you the time and tell you right now that you can't."

"What? Why not?"

"Sunrock Retreat is only slightly larger than a military checkpoint, and it's out in the boondocks. Besides, Sergra doesn't like to help people that can't help themselves."

"Coulda told ja dat," Xan whispered to Argam.

"Then…will you send a letter for me?" Argam attempted.

"If Sunrock is under siege like you say…"

"Send it by wyvern."

"Send it yourself."

"We're going to be busy. We have work to do."

Xan blinked. This didn't sound like part of their plan to reward themselves on what a great job they did. That plan involved booze, bragging, and buxom young women. None of those things involved work like the kind Argam was implying.

* * *

After the rest of the campers had been wiped off the face of Kalimdor, Xan actually _did _get his reward. However, the party that ensued was half victory celebration, half funeral for all those killed by the Alliance. As such, there was a somber mood to the affair that Xan thought would help him with the emotionally-troubled women staying at Sunrock. In reality, it only made things more difficult as the three troll women there avoided Xan because he didn't share in their emotionally-troubled state. He was the only one in the troll section of the party that wasn't grieving over some kind of war hero, who had supposedly died and taken three human souls with him to the afterlife. 

Argam and Kaya were nowhere to be found, and Xan hoped they would remain that way. Zuridan, however, was making himself present at the troll group for a reason that the inebriated Xan couldn't fathom.

"Wha'choo doin' here, mon?" He asked, setting his mug down on the rough-hewn table a little too hard.

"You've gotta help me, Xan," Zuridan muttered, and Xan finally noticed that he was shaking and sweating profusely.

"Huh?"

"I'm getting the Hunger."

"Eat sometin'."

"I think that would be a very bad idea."

"Enjoy yourself," Xan groggily muttered. "It's a celebration!" He shouted far too loudly. Every troll and a few people from the tauren section gave him a withering glare, and some made throat-slitting motions.

"No, you don't understand. I'm hungry for orc."

"Huh?"

"The demon lord Sahasraakash did this to me when I tried to find a way to kill my minions. He made some stupid metaphor about being hungry for knowledge, so he made me hungry for my own kind too."

"Oh." Xan then fell backwards and began a pathetic attempt at break dancing. "Wheeee!"

"I'm talking to the wrong person, aren't I?" Zuridan asked. "Where's Melchiah?"

"I'm out here," a grinding voice called from outside the large tent. Zuridan, seeing the orc group between him and the exit, grabbed the leather by the seams and tore an exit of his own. "…what the hell did you do that for?" Melchiah asked after Zuridan had disentangled himself from the clutching tent fabric.

"I haven't told you about my cannibalistic urges, have I?"

"You're a _cannibal_?"

"The demon Sahasraakash cursed me to hunger for my own kind."

"Oh lord, I thought those minions of yours were bad enough."

"I have to get out of here before I eat someone."

"Well, we're heading back to the Eastern Continent tomorrow, so just camp out back here away from all the orcs until we leave."

Zuridan raised an eyebrow. "Why are we going back there? The messenger said troops are needed in Ashenvale."

"We're going back because I don't give a feck what Thrall says. I'm here to kill myself, not baby-sit you and the other ones."

"Xan and Argam?"

"Yeah, them."

"Why kill yourself at all? That sounds like a pretty grim outlook, even for you."

"The curse is the only thing holding my bones together. Besides, after all I've seen and all I've been through, living is hardly fun anymore."

Zuridan was now in a very awkward position. That position being that he was now the consolidating friend, who was supposed to say cliché phrases like "But there must be something you want to live for!" However, Zuridan was fighting off an almost overwhelming desire to run back into the tent and start devouring orcs, and he was pretty sure if he tried to get sentimental with Melchiah in any way, the Forsaken warrior would chop his head off.

So he opted with "Better kill yourself fast, then."

"I know. I'm dying from boredom."

"Was that supposed to be a joke?"

"Why, was it funny?"

**End**


	19. All Along the Watchtower

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 19 – All Along the Watchtower**

By Genoscythe

Meridia Darkwater pretended to be severely uninterested as the convoy of humans dragged themselves into Astranaar (except for the paladin leading them, who was of course strutting with an undeserved sense of pride trailing half a mile behind him). From her perch on the southern watchtower, she could make out almost a full company of marines, some wounded.

Being the eternally graceful, eternally strong, eternally good-at-everything Night Elf that she was, Meridia had only to leap off the watchtower and rebound off the side of a rooftop before she was standing directly in the paladin's way. He immediately stopped and his pupils dilated; several marines crashed into him from behind. This was the kind of reaction Meridia was used to from humans who didn't spend much time around female Night Elves, as well as people who didn't know her very well.

"H-hey," the paladin stuttered. Then, when he realized that his ego had momentarily fled him, he swung a jaw-breaking punch at one of the marines to get it back. When he was reassured that he was once again the biggest badass on the planet, he turned back to Meridia. "I am Sir Marek Belheim."

_"Don't call him 'sir'," _a voice echoed through her head. She believed it to be the priest that was now healing Marek's punching bag.

"Okay then, Marek. What business do you – "

"That's _Sir _Marek, good wench."

"Of course it is," Meridia responded coyly. "But as the captain of the Astranaar Sentinels, I need to know just what the hell you're doing here."

"I and my compadres have been sent by none other than Sir Ulrich Gadwyn to aid you in the battle against the Horde."

Meridia's eyes narrowed. "We aren't fighting the Horde. We have demons to the west, more demons to the east, and a lot of angry forest creatures in between."

Marek gave the impression that he hadn't heard her. "I am also on a personal mission, if you will, to find a companion here."

"_What_?"

"How about you come with me, and I can see what's under that hood."

Instinctively, Meridia adjusted her hood so that even less of her face was showing than before (meaning that now her glowing eyes were only barely visible).

"If you so much as touch me, I'll have twenty archers shooting sharp sticks through your head before you even know what I feel like."

Marek, being in quite the good mood after decking that marine, decided to try his luck and grabbed her wrist. Meridia backflipped away from his touch, crying out in disgust as she did. However, no arrows flew.

"Didn't any of you _hear _me?" Meridia screamed.

"I'm sorry, Captain! I thought you were joking!" A voice reverberated from one of the watchtowers.

"Me too!"

"I lost my bow again. Does anyone down there see a bow with a heart carved into the – "

"Shh!" Meridia hissed, but Marek was already grinning from ear to well-groomed ear. "Listen to me, Marek. If you want to hunt Horde, that's fine. You will _not_, however, get the Sentinels' cooperation."

"Huh? Why not, baby?"

"They're not as different as you think."

"I know. You look just like the women we have at home, but…hotter."

"No! The Horde."

Marek blinked, and the God of Uncomfortable Silence found himself a new conversation to strike.

"That has to be one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard," Marek finally said, shaking his head in two parts pity and four parts disbelief. "They're _green_! Some of them are _blue_!"

"And I'm purple."

"But you're _hot_!"

"I won't tolerate much more of this, Belheim."

"Tusks! Fangs! Horns! They're like…monsters!"

At this, Astranaar fell deathly silent. Marek knew he had just committed an unforgivable social felony, but he couldn't yet imagine what kind. Then, Meridia threw back her hood and lowered the mask around her jaw. Marek understood, and for the second time that day, his ego failed him.

Satisfied, Meridia pulled her hood up over her face once again. "If you don't _ever _make the mistake of talking like that again, I'll let you stay. If I hear another word about monsters, I'll _personally _shoot a sharp stick through your head," Meridia warned, her voice low and its coyness on a leave of absence. She then turned her head skyward. "Since I CAN'T COUNT ON ANYBODY ELSE TO DO IT!"

"We're _really _sorry, Captain."

"TAKE ORDERS LIKE A WOMAN, CHANDRIS!"

"I'm Sasha. Chandris is off-duty today."

"TELL HER, TOO!"

"Uh – ah…miss?" Marek asked timidly, and for a split second Meridia didn't recognize his voice.

"What is it?" Meridia replied crossly, her anger still burning hotly.

"Well, can you show us – if it's not…"

"For God's sake…" someone muttered from the rear of the marine company, and he soon stepped forth to reveal himself as the priest who'd telepathically spoken to Meridia. "He wants to know where we will be staying. I simply want to know where I can find a quiet place."

This time, Meridia was surprised. She hadn't expected any of the humans to be so straightforward with her, especially not after seeing her face. "Why do you want a quiet place? I mean – we've got a lot of 'em, but it's usually not…"

"Something a human would ask for, I know. Don't worry. Just point me in the right direction, and I won't bother you anymore."

"You're not…well, you can bother me if you want…"

"All I want…is a quiet place."

"There's a convent over there, they can show you to one of our moonwells." Meridia pointed shakily to a knot of priests across Astranaar, and watched intently as the human strode over to them with not so much as a glance at his surroundings.

"Yeah…uh huh." Marek was nodding to himself. "He's gay." Feeling infinitely better about himself now, Marek practically glowed with ego.

That is, until Meridia turned around and shot an arrow between his boot and his shin guard, a shot that only an eternally good-at-everything Night Elf could make.

"Marek, I would suggest finding the herbalist. Everybody else, follow me."

* * *

Melchiah whistled through his exposed jaw, an expression that would seem cheerful coming from most sentient beings but was a literal form of venting rage coming from the cursed Forsaken. He was not where he wanted to be right now. He wanted to be flying back to the Eastern Continent, picking up the trail of destruction Araj the Summoner left behind him. He wanted to be doing something grand and selfish.

Instead, he was sitting in the back of a wagon on an express trip to the forest of Ashenvale.

"What do you mean, all the zeppelins _exploded_?" Melchiah quoted grimly. "Well, being the _dumbass _goblins that we are, we couldn't help but make sure our blimps were flying death traps," he continued, in a fair impression of a goblin. "But isn't that completely _stupid_?" "Yes, but we're _dumbass _goblins, so it makes sense!"

"Get over it…" Zuridan muttered, rubbing his leathery temples. Ever since traveling to Durotar and finding that the goblins had officially run out of spare zeppelins, Melchiah hadn't ceased complaining. He insisted they take a boat instead, but the only available boat was headed for Booty bay. As everybody knows, Booty Bay is as good as Alliance territory.

So, with the edicts from the Warchief growing ever more persistent and bothersome, Xan and company decided to take a trip to Ashenvale like the pamphlet suggested. It promised to be the first shade Xan and Argam would have had in months.

Complications arose finding a wagon, which they tried to do at Orgrimmar, which was heavily beefing up security after a gyrocopter suicide attack on the wyvern tower. One of the new additions was a spell detector at the main gate, to see if anybody was trying to smuggle in a cursed item that could explode/hurt lots of people.

As one can imagine, the spell detector did not like Melchiah, who was a cursed item from head to toe. He was immediately thrown into the Orgrimmar Penitentiary, and Zuridan volunteered to get him out. After greeting an astonished Dakka (who firmly believed that Zuridan was joking at the end of his last visit) and shoving aside an even more pathetic-looking Gimpy (who now had a mechanical arm to go with his leg) he busted Melchiah out in much the same way he had busted Argam out roughly a week earlier.

In other words, they just walked out the front door with Gimpy's other arm in tow (how and why is up to your imagination).

So it's understandable why Melchiah would be complaining, but Zuridan and the others were not known to be the most understanding creatures on Kalimdor. Argam was the only one who seemed to tolerate Melchiah's grumbling, but there was a good chance that he wasn't listening as he was pulling the wagon and talking to his fishblade simultaneously.

By nightfall, they had reached the northernmost end of the Barrens, where the landscape abruptly shifted themes once again. Parched rocks were replaced by lush, thriving plants, and dead twigs became colossal trees. Xan'Jin wondered if there was any natural order to be found on all of Azeroth, but then he remembered that according to his map, Dun Morogh was located on the equator, and knew that it was hopeless.

Trudging along the road to what they thought was Splintertree Post, Xan nearly leapt out of his skin. Barreling down the road at them was a bulky silhouette. It had to be the most muscular paladin Xan had ever seen, with arms half as thick as tree trunks and a barrel-like torso. However, when it drew closer, Xan realized it was an orc. He had never seen a Horde soldier on the road before, unless it was being savagely beaten by paladins.

As he passed, the orc grinned toothily at them, and not in the 'I'm scared out of my mind' kind of way. Xan was astonished. The Horde in Ashenvale could actually fight back! It was wholly refreshing, after seeing what the campers had been doing to new recruits at Stonetalon.

Several hours later, they could no longer see the road. The darkness had settled in Ashenvale Forest so completely that Xan couldn't see an obstacle until Argam hit it. Melchiah insisted that he could see in the dark, but because he was so pissed off, he wasn't going to tell them where they were or where to go.

Finally, they gave up, covered the wagon with a tarp, and fell asleep. Melchiah decided to take up Argam's habit of talking to inanimate objects, and continued his complaints to a dead mouse that had been crushed by their crates of provisions.

None of them could have possibly seen the Night Elf sentinel watching them in the trees, and had that particular sentinel not lost her bow earlier in the day, they would have all been dead by morning (with the exception of Melchiah, but that's not really worth mentioning anymore).

**End**


	20. Battle of the Gulch

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 20 – Battle of the Gulch**

By Genoscythe

Xan'Jin was, in the deepest and most primal pit of the void that was his soul, pissed off. For half an hour, he had been lying awake in their sad little wagon, trying to block out the incessant buzzing that tore at his brain like hacksaws on a tree. He couldn't tell what it was because a) the tarp was still strung over the wagon, and all he could see was fuzzy darkness and b) he was _far _too lazy to remove the tarp or, better yet, get out of the wagon altogether and use those lanky posterior appendages that most people called legs to look for himself.

After half an hour, he could take no more. Angrily, he jabbed at the tarp. Oddly enough, it seemed to disintegrate at his touch. Even more oddly, the sky had become very gray, very swirly, and very close to the top of their wagon. Curious, Xan tried to sit up, but shot back down when his tusks made contact with the gray thing, which he decided was definitely not sky. Sparks danced on the floor of the wagon, and Xan's tusks hurt like someone had put a buzzsaw to them.

Incredibly loud, annoying buzz. Swirly gray thing hovering over their wagon. Constant analogies being made to different types of saws. Xan knew he had all the pieces of this puzzle, but he just couldn't put them together.

"It's a giant saw, dumbass," Melchiah growled, arms crossed and eyes smoldering from across the wagon. "We're near the Warsong lumber camp."

"Ah, what a wonderful time to wake up and stretch," Argam murmured, disengaging from dreamland and attempting to stretch out his arms.

"Don't!" Xan cried, and for a moment Argam hesitated. He seemed to be staring curiously at the woodcutting saw hovering over their heads.

"It looks pretty…" Argam mused. "Makes me want to touch it." He continued reaching, to Xan's obvious horror. Leaping as horizontally as he could, Xan grabbed Argam's arms and pinned them to the floor of the wagon.

"No," Xan said firmly. "Joo gonna cut ja hands off, mon."

"I knew _that_."

"What the hell…?" Zuridan was waking, and he appeared ready to sit up and take off his head. Xan cursed and jumped at Zuridan, leaving Argam free to raise his arms in silent reverence. Pinning down Zuridan, Xan turned to Melchiah.

"Mel, hold – nevamind."

"Relax. I know what to do."

At this, Melchiah uncrossed his arms and planted both hands on the floor of the wagon. The wooden boards began to rot before their eyes, withering and turning black. Soon enough, the wagon came apart and dumped the four Horde soldiers into the bushes of Ashenvale.

Above them, the saw-blade was just finishing with the tree that they had parked next to the night before. As it creaked, sighed, and keeled over, Xan thought he heard a scream from the higher branches and immediately after witnessed something purple and lithe jumping from the falling tree.

The shredder bearing down on them was old and rusty, bearing countless scratches and half-buffed nicks. The goblin sitting on its head looked like an attempt by shredders to turn one of their kind into an organic creature; his head was rounded and seemed to lack any kind of a neck, his arms beefy, and if his grimacing mouth were open then it would only follow that embers would be belching out of it.

"What the _hell _are you four _doing_?" The shredder operator growled, parking his machine. "Can't you see we're chopping wood, here?"

"Dat was one o' my guesses, ja."

The goblin sighed, and Xan was only mildly surprised when a plume of smoke actually _did _escape his mouth. "Sonny, I've been working for Warsong Lumber since before Hellscream died. He _hired _me! I have never _once_ been given lip like that, and now that you know who I am, I doubt I ever will again."

"Depends if joo give us more crap," Xan replied. "Where be da lumber camp?"

"I don't answer to you!" The goblin scoffed. "If you really want to know, then fight me for it. This shredder's been with me since before –"

"Hellscream died, right," Melchiah muttered, nodding solemnly. "Xan, I can _hear _the lumber camp. It's over there." The Forsaken warrior stepped forward and beckoned for them to follow.

"Ja…me too."

"Hey!" The operator shrieked. "_Never _have I been ignored, in all my years working in Ashenvale!"

"All three of 'em, huh?" As they passed the idle shredder, Melchiah appeared to trip on a root and steadied himself against the machine's leg. Only when they were almost out of earshot did they hear the goblin screaming and cursing; some rubbish about his trusty shredder falling apart before his eyes.

The group soon found themselves staring down the World's Second Largest Buzzsaw (the First Largest being mounted on the roof of the Sunrock Retreat inn, still stained with human blood and serving as a constant reminder that the Horde will not tolerate xenophobes). Beyond all the laboring, half-dead orcs – some with arrow shafts sticking out of various body parts – a group of healthier, more heroic-looking Horde were crowded around an orc that was taller than most.

As Xan and company drew closer, they found that he was not taller, but that he was standing on a tree stump, and was in fact one of the shortest orcs any of them had ever seen. Behind him, a Horde banner was stretched out like a backdrop and he waited with his hands behind his back. The orc was stiff as a board; if he moved, the metric ton of badges on his armor would likely pull him down.

"Now, I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his clan. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his clan. Men, all this stuff you've heard about the Horde not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of horse dung. The Horde traditionally loves to fight. All _real_ Horde love the sting of battle. When you were young, you all admired the champion axe thrower, the fastest raider, the big bad son-of-a-bitch with all the swords and beads around his neck. The Horde loves a winner and will not tolerate a loser. The Horde plays to win all the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for an orc who lost and laughed. That's why the Horde has never lost and will never lose a war. Because the very thought of losing is hateful to the Horde."

Xan'Jin couldn't help but laugh at this last point.

"You are all here today to win _one _thing, one thing in particular. You are here to steal the flag smack-dab from the center of the Silverwings' fortress, and bring it back to Lucky Forward. DO YOU ALL UNDERSTAND ME?"

The Horde soldiers all roared and slammed their weapons into the ground. Melchiah shook his head piteously.

"…what?" Zuridan looked between Xan and Melchiah. "I thought we were fighting a war, not playing a game of capture the flag." This remark only caused steam to hiss from Melchiah's teeth.

"Artichoke Company! I want you to double-time it along the southwestern side of the gulch – hug the wall like it's your goddamn shield. Babka Company, fall in behind Artichoke and keep those purple bastards pinned in their graveyard. Chocolate, head straight down the middle and keep the exit safe for Fondue Company. Doughnut and Éclair, you will be assisting Fondue in capturing…"

"Somebody throw something at him," Melchiah growled. Argam, being always eager to throw anything at anyone, hurled his backpack full of rare and unusually heavy stones that he had been collecting from different parts of the world. The bag struck the orc on his temple, sending him sprawling backwards and into the waiting arms of the Horde flag. Melchiah trudged up to the stump and took the orc commander's place.

"Listen, this is crap. I don't know what the hell you're doing playing _games _with the Alliance, but if you all keep me covered, I can tear the whole fortress down in a matter of seconds. You all got me?"

Dumbstruck silence told him that they understood perfectly.

"Somebody move Commander Hemorrhoids to where he won't get in the way."

"That's General Pa'tan…" the orc rumbled groggily.

A troll moved to drag away Pa'tan, and cast his confusion on their new leader, who looked on without remorse.

"We're waitin' for reinforcements – us an' da elves. We playin' a game to pass da time."

"Well, now _I'm _the reinforcements," Melchiah replied, tapping his foot impatiently. "And I'm telling you to get this war started again."

* * *

High Priestess Luna Earthwindfire couldn't stop it. It was like a tsunami, brutal and relentless in its conquest. There was nothing she could do. Before she knew it, she was grinning ear to pointy ear. She had always been taught not to laugh in the face of her enemies, to treat everyone (including those disgusting orcs) with a certain measure of respect before hitting them in the head with something deadly. This, however, was too much for even Luna's noble upbringing. 

There was no organization. The knot of Horde soldiers was less coherent than a rioting mob. They were charging down the middle of the gulch, a tiny swarm of brown and blue and green blobs from her vantage point. Two such blobs, a little blue one and a big brown one, even veered off and hid behind a supply shed before coming into range of her archers.

A single soldier stood out to her, a Forsaken with tattered golden armor, feathery midnight hair, and a severe deficit in skin. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and as chaotic as their battle formation was, the Horde seemed to gravitate around him.

Three volleys of arrows later, the Horde reached the entrance to Silverwing Hold. As if he had already won, the Forsaken leapt out and grabbed onto the wall of the fortress. Luna raised an eyebrow, expecting some dramatic shift in the battle to take place, maybe something special about the Forsaken she had overlooked.

Then High Priestess Luna Earthwindfire remembered that they had recently coated Silverwing Hold in a resin that warded off curses, and judging from the astonished look on the Forsaken below her, _that _was his trump card. Luna allowed herself to smile a little bit more.

* * *

After lunch, Melchiah was pulling an arrow out of his eye socket when Xan hatched an idea. However, this plan was shot down as soon as Melchiah heard the words 'disguise ourselves as Night Elves' and they were back to square one with less than half their previous fighting force. 

"Well…" Zuridan began. "We could build a giant wooden – "

"_No!_" Melchiah roared. "I know where you're going with that. Just…_no_."

"I could tailor some more dresses," Argam offered.

"I don't think that would…_more _dresses?" Melchiah queried. Xan jerked his head in the direction of General Pa'tan, who was wearing a diaphanous purple dress and inspecting himself in the reflection on the World's Second Largest Buzzsaw.

"He been losin' it since Argam hit 'im wit da rocks."

However, Melchiah was no longer paying attention. He was staring at the buzzsaw with a singular intensity, waiting for someone to ask what he was thinking. When nobody did, he decided to skip that part.

"I'm thinking that buzzsaw could do a hell of a lot of damage to that fortress…"

"Nobody asked what you were thinking," Zuridan pointed out.

"Xan, you told me you know explosives."

"Sorta."

"Do you think if we tie that saw onto the front of Lucky Forward – nevermind why it's called that – and rig some explosives behind it, we could blast the thing across the gulch and into the Silverwings' fortress?"

"Ja, but…"

"Sweet. Get to work on that."

"What about –"

"All the materials you need are over there. Ask one of the orcs."

Xan knew this was one of those situations where Fate did not want his point to get across, so he set off for the orcs to ask where the dynamite was and to tell them to evacuate any valuables from Lucky Forward before they would be effectively demolishing it.

Orders are orders.

* * *

High Priestess Luna Earthwindfire, ever the clever strategist, liked to play the waiting game. Even as her opponents rigged what looked like a massive deadly projectile onto the front of the Warsong Lumber Camp (which her enemy Pa'tan insistently called Lucky Forward), Luna did not strike. She was always in favor of waiting things out, because it meant less work in the long run. Someone as perfect as her shouldn't have to work, or so they said. 

Luna wasn't sure who 'they' were. It probably had something to do with her family, but they weren't perfect enough for her to bother with them.

_There's that 'they' word again._

Now that the massive deadly projectile was in place and the blue speck had nearly finished tacking red dots onto the wall behind it, Luna decided it was the time to get off her perfectly-shaped ass and start working.

However, she had barely left her lawn chair on top of Silverwing Hold when a sharp_boom_ filled the air, and Lucky Forward was blown away like a sand castle against a strong wind. Out of the smoke, the massive deadly projectile zoomed toward Silverwing Hold. Luna Earthwindfire leapt and grabbed onto a hanging tree limb just as the buzzsaw impacted with the front of the hold. The saw imbedded itself in the stone; suspended in midair, wavering precariously. Then, the shockwave hit and the whole joint came apart at the seams.

Luna couldn't believe her beautiful glowing eyes – she had just lost the battle of Warsong Gulch without so much as a return fire. Hastily, she clambered up the limb and headed for Astranaar, busily thinking of an excuse to give to High Command.

* * *

Xan tried to celebrate, he tried to make the best out of the situation. However, not a single high-five was reciprocated as the dust that used to be the Warsong Lumber Camp settled on their skin. The shockwave had apparently knocked some sense back into General Pa'tan, who rushed up to Xan and began slamming his palm against the troll's back – a gesture which Xan wasn't sure how to interpret. 

"Son, that was the ballsiest, shit-kickingest, son-of-a-goddamn-bitchingest…" Pa'tan had a stroke before he could finish the sentence.

"Let's go, before they tally their losses," Melchiah beckoned, leading his cadre out of the gulch and back the way they came. Within minutes, they were lost and unwittingly following the trail of one High Priestess Luna Earthwindfire.

**End**

AN: I pray all my Patton references didn't go unnoticed. The next chapter should be longer, so look forward to it.


	21. Gypsy Eyes

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 21 – Gypsy Eyes**

By Genoscythe

AN: For a long time, I had forgotten about Granik. For a long time after _that_, I was thinking about what to do with him. There really wasn't much use for a too-strong-to-be-there character after Xan got past the Barrens, but I've just thought of a role for Granik in the future. Enjoy!

* * *

"And…and then the bad man made the tree fall down," the sentinel sniffed. Meridia patted a hand on her cheek.

"What did the bad man look like, Liandra?"

"H – he was really short and green…and he was sitting on a big scary metal robot demon monster creature."

"You were too close to the Warsong Lumber Camp again."

"But why can't we _kill _them? The little green men _and_ the big green ones? So then they won't get in our way anymore or cut down any more trees."

"Because that would be childis –" Meridia stopped when she remembered who she was talking to. "That would be bad. Now go get yourself some sweetbread, and we'll see if we can find that bow of yours." She tried not to shove too hard when she pushed Liandra out the door.

_I thought I'd be leading an elite fighting force, not babysitting a bunch of air-headed little crybabies…_she thought bitterly. _OH WAIT, there _are _no elite fighting forces. They're _all _air-headed little crybabies!_

"Whoah! Hot chick incoming!" The damn paladin cried, and with a sigh Meridia left the first aid shed where she'd been patching up one of Liandra's 'boo-boos'. As she drew up to the entrance of Astranaar, a pale Night Elf staggered up the road and nearly collapsed in her arms. This appeared to be what Marek was hoping for, and he was disappointed when she stopped short. The Night Elf appeared to be slightly injured, but it also looked like she was doing a good deal of acting.

"Oh…oh, it was _horrible_!" The Night Elf cried, grabbing the hem of Meridia's jerkin and pulling her down for effect. This elicited a small giggle from Marek.

"What was horrible? Who the hell are you?"

"High Priestess L-Luna…Earthwindfire…" She gasped dramatically. "Captain of the Silverwing Sentinels. Silverwing Hold was…completely destroyed…coincidentally _right _after I was relieved of command. So…it wasn't my fault, right?"

"If someone would actually believe that, then yeah."

"Thank god. I…I tried to go back and help them. But there were Horde everywhere. This orc – he had a big, _big _hammer. So you see…there was nothing I could do."

"Of course not. What reason, pray tell, were you discharged for?" Meridia queried.

"I was being…reassigned…" Luna spent a good minute huffing and puffing here, long after anyone who actually _was _winded would have gotten their breath back. "…here! I was reassigned here. I'm the new Captain here."

"Nice and believable. Where is here?"

"Ah…As…Astranaar?"

"Good. Now go get yourself some sweetbread, and we'll see if we can find you something to do that'll make you look important. Don't worry, we'll get that self-esteem up in no time!"

"Huh? What do you think I am, a child?" Luna balked, no longer huffing or puffing. She shoved Meridia away and got to her feet. Marek giggled again.

"I'm sorry, I'm just used to working with childish people."

"Oh, do you run the day-care here?"

Silence. Marek coughed uncomfortably.

"I'm the captain…" Meridia rushed toward Luna with murder in her eyes. "I'm the _captain _of the goddamn Astranaar Sentinels!" Before she knew what she was doing (but not too late to stop it), Meridia slapped Luna across the face. Marek cheered and pumped his fist in the air. Simultaneously, every one of the Stormwind Marines save Cygnus thrust their heads out of nearby barrels to watch. They had been waiting for days to witness a famous Night Elf cat fight, as rumor had it they were changing the name to tiger fight simply because of the magnitude to which Night Elves took their battles.

"Oh, my mistake," Luna growled. "Sorry about that – sorry _your _sentinels act like little girls!" With that, she pushed Meridia into a reflection pool (large wooden bowls - commonly found in Night Elf cities - filled with water and scented candles to provide atmosphere and a faux sense of enlightenment). Soaking wet, her leather clothes sticking to her shapely body, she picked up the bathing pool and hurled it at Luna.

"WOOOO!" Marek roared, and all the marines gave their applause. This was almost worth being shipped to an alien continent for the sole purpose of dying as quickly as possible.

Luna swiped a burgeoning piece of fruit from a nearby stand and hurled it into the air. Meridia thought she had missed completely, but just then an arrow pierced the fruit and it exploded sticky red juice all over her. In retaliation, Meridia tackled Luna and thrust her face into the now-muddy ground.

"YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Marek screamed, his voice starting to crack. The two Night Elves were now wrestling on the ground, ripping and tearing at clothes and hair. Marek yelled so loud that something in his neck popped, and a jet of blood squirted from a ruptured vein. The paladin collapsed; despite his best interests, Vismund Cygnus was immediately on-site and healing the wound.

The tiger fight carried well on into the following morning, and after all the fires were put out, the two Night Elves finally separated.

"Okay," Luna gulped, huffing for real this time. "We'll see which one of us should be captain." The pale silvery elf hobbled into the center of Astranaar, sweeping her scratched arms out to encompass the whole thing. "Who here wants to kill some Horde?"

Unanimous cheering.

Meridia took her cue, getting up and limping next to Luna. "Who wants to create a stable, peaceful living environment for all of Azeroth?"

One sentinel cheered, but Meridia was certain she would cheer if Archimonde Himself were there proposing they have a satanic orgy and follow it up with a mass suicide.

"Who thinks the Horde owns this forest?"

Boos filled with righteous indignation.

"Who thinks this forest is big enough to share?"

Meridia's only supporter had been silenced by her friends.

"Who has an overwhelming, maddening, soul-crushing desire to get revenge for being humiliated and ruined by a bunch of savages?"

Astranaar remained still.

"I mean – victory for the Alliance!"

Cue riotous applause; even Marek pitched in with a hoarse "What-what!" The sentinels all rushed forth and hurled their new leader into the air, carrying her on their shoulders into the armory. Meridia was left alone on the streets of Astranaar, accompanied only briefly by Cygnus asking her what all the screaming was for, and why in the Light's name he smelled smoke.

Meridia knocked him out cold.

A few solitary minutes later, Luna strode out of the barracks wearing a fresh set of armor and a captain's badge. The entire population of Astranaar waited behind her, starving for her next words of wisdom.

"Ladies, it's time to do what we were born to do," Luna screeched. "Let's go hunt some Horde."

As they all prepared for battle, Cygnus got to his feet.

"What did I do wrong?" Meridia asked, hoping he was listening to her monologue.

"Perhaps they don't respect you because of your deformity," Cygnus replied, to Meridia's silent glee.

"Of course not! They've been nothing but kind about it."

"I noticed you don't interact well with the other elves."

_He noticed! _"Well, that's not necessarily their fault…" Meridia turned her gaze to a circle of Night Elf men, all of them shirtless and pelvic thrusting at each other in turn. For a male Night Elf, a pelvic thrust could mean any number of things. This looked to Meridia like a thrust of victory. "Not entirely."

"I think your goals are more logical and noble. Convince them that your mixed blood is nothing to scoff at. You _do _have mixed blood, don't you? That explains the – "

"Yeah…" Meridia headed for the armory herself. "Thanks. You'd think it would be obvious that my goals are more logical."

"And yet logic hardly figures into the lives of average people."

"That's a narrow-minded way of looking at it."

"So you think I'm wrong?"

"I think the world would be a better place if you were."

"Are we ready to move out?" Luna yelled. The Sentinels filed out of the barracks, inexplicably transformed into a disciplined fighting force.

"Wait!" Meridia cried. "I still get to be Lieutenant, right?"

* * *

"Son of a bitch," Melchiah affirmed. "We're lost."

"We can't be lost," Zuridan pointed out. "Those are our tracks, right there. We're just walking in a big circle, so if we – "

"Those _aren't _our tracks, dumbass. I've been tainting the trees as we go along, and I haven't seen a single decayed log yet."

"Who else got tracks like us?" Xan piped in.

"Nobody. There's about seven sets of tracks here, and they're all human-shaped."

"Great, so we're following a gang of pinkskins."

"Xan, my fish is getting soft!"

"What do we do if this turns out to be a trap?"

"It's simple," Melchiah began. "I get myself killed, you all get taken away or killed too, the curse revives me and I look for someone else to help find Araj."

"There's a big bunch of flies following me now."

"I don't like the way you plan things."

"Hey, guys." Xan's voice sounded urgent, but the situation was out of control now.

"Hey, I never gave you any illusions about what kind of person I am."

"The fish is starting to smell really bad. I think that's making the flies worse."

"But you're…invincible or something! At least tell me you'll help us fight."

"HEY!"

Finally, they all turned to look at Xan'Jin, who was looking at the translucent Night Elf in the bushes ahead of them, who was looking all around at the twenty-odd archers and their gleaming twenty-odd arrowheads pointing toward the group of Horde soldiers in the midst of the clearing.

Reflexively, Melchiah charged forward and impaled the Night Elf. Before the others could do anything about it, twenty-odd arrows were sticking out of Melchiah's body. He collapsed with a thud, and his corpse began to glow. Before Xan's eyes, a ghostly image of Melchiah tore itself away from a rapidly decaying pile of bones. Oddly enough, his armor was now part of the apparition.

_I just might come back for you three, _Melchiah's voice whispered in Xan's head. However, when the ghost made ready to take off, a pale Night Elf flung out her hand, muttered an enchantment, and seemed to suck his spirit into her bracer. Melchiah's detached voice sighed. _Well, fuck._

The overbearing, pale elf snapped off some commands to her subordinates, and the Horde soldiers heard twenty-odd bow strings tighten. Another, different string of commands loosened them. A hooded Night Elf emerged from behind the pale one, elbowing her out of the way.

"Troll, listen to me," the Night Elf said in startling trollish. Both Xan and the Night Elves gaped in shock – to Zuridan and Argam, it was all still gibberish. "You know a weakness in the defenses at Splintertree Post, understand?"

Xan narrowed his eyes. "Mebbe if I could _find _the damn place…"

"No, shut up. They'll kill you if you don't know anything. _You know a weakness in the defenses at Splintertree Post_…but you're not going to tell it to us without an undue amount of torture." Xan had to admire this Night Elf's theatrical skills, even amidst all the confusion. She made it look like she was interrogating him. Xan tried his hand at it too.

"Gotcha," he spat, as defiantly as possible. The hooded elf was now talking rapidly to her peer with the pale skin, and it seemed like they were negotiating something. After a bit, she turned back.

"You also know who it was that destroyed Silverwing Hold."

"Oh, ja. Dat be us," Xan replied, still trying to make it look like he was withholding information. The elf actually broke character for a bit, staring at him in blank fascination. Then it was back to business.

"No, it wasn't. If you really _do _know that, then she'll kill you."

"_Fine_…" The elf turned to her peer. At length, they seemed to come upon a conclusion.

"We're taking you in for questioning," she told him.

"But we don' _know _anyting!"

"Shut up! You do, or you're dead."

_Son, I'm ordering you to stay alive and get me out of this damn bracelet! _Melchiah roared inside Xan's head. _Don't do anything stupid._

"Sure ting," Xan replied at length. "I know tons."

* * *

"So…Meridia," Luna began, her voice full of bravado. "How are you going to convince me that a little rat like him knows a weakness in the defenses around Splintertree?"

"He's a rogue," Meridia explained, striding hastily up the spiral staircase of her favorite watchtower where the troll was being held. "He knows all kinds of little secrets like that."

"We'll see…" Luna finished. When she began to turn around, Meridia cast her a sidelong glance. "Against all my best judgment, I'm leaving you with the troll," she explained. "I have people to impress."

Inside the tower, Xan'Jin was hung limply over a couch due partly to exhaustion but mostly to the fact that he had never sat on something so comfortable in his entire life. The Horde made it apparent that they despised furniture of any kind, as there wasn't a single chair in Orgrimmar and only few tables. The chairs Xan _had _sat in were rough, un-sanded blocks of wood that looked and felt like an ogre had broken a tree into pieces and forcefully coerced the remains to stick together.

Splinters up the ass build character, or so Rai'Jin said.

"What's a troll doing so close to Astranaar?" The hooded elf queried, having appeared at the top of the stairwell. Xan turned his crimson eyes on her fully for the first time. After all he'd heard about Night Elf females, he found himself disappointed. Not to say she wasn't the most beautiful humanoid creature he had ever seen, but it seemed the stories were greatly exaggerated.

"A troll be lost," Xan replied, rolling over onto his stomache the better to see her. The hood was puzzling, but it merely added extra mystique to her already mystiquey countenance. "We headed to Splintertree, far as I knew."

The elf shook her head. "When you said you didn't know anything…"

"Hey, I got more questions den joo," Xan interrupted. "Wha's your name? Why you helpin' us?"

"My name is Meridia Darkwater," she answered. "My reasons for helping you are my own."

"Obviously," Xan snorted. "Nex' question. How joo speakin' trollish?"

"Same reason why I'm helping you."

"…huh?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Probly not," Xan conceded. "Nex'. What joo want from me?"

"I want to be reminded that everyone on Azeroth hasn't completely lost their minds."

"Good ting joo ain' talkin' to Argam…"

"That tauren waving the big fish in the air?"

"How'd ja guess?"

"He's being transferred to an underground holding cell, along with the orc."

Xan raised an eyebrow. "Joo have those?"

Meridia sighed. "We will. 'Captain' Luna insists that we start fortifying Astranaar, so they're hollowing out some moonwells and building a prison under them. I'd like to see their faces when we start to run out of water…"

"Captain?"

"We had a bit of a power struggle. The white elf used to run Silverwing Hold, but it was just blown up or something."

"Smashed," Xan corrected. "Wit a big saw."

Meridia shook her head, not wanting to be educated. "She just waltzed over here and took over my job. She and the whole town have been on a xenophobic rampage ever since."

"So joo wan' me to help get rid of her," Xan concluded.

"I _was _kind of hoping, yes."

"Well, as long as we get our friend back – "

"The Forsaken?"

"Ja."

"You'll have to pry that bracer from her cold, dead arm."

"I got no problem wit dat."

"Good," Meridia intoned, and made to leave. She stopped herself. "What's your name?"

"Xan'Jin. Now dat we're even, can I see joo face?"

"I'll show my face when you find out why I'm helping you," she replied. "If, of course, Luna hasn't killed you by then." If she hadn't been wearing the hood, Xan would have seen her roguish smile and been envious – nobody grins like a Night Elf.

**End**


	22. Gallows Pole

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 22 – Gallows Pole**

By Genoscythe

**AN:** Right...so. It _has _been awhile, hasn't it? Well, I've got excuses for all! First off, I've been focusing more on my original novel (which I'm getting sorta close to finishing), and that's leaving little time or -more importantly - energy to do Voodoo Child. Second, I've been trying to finish my sophomore year without failing Algebra 1. Again. With the same teacher. Again. Fortunately, I did #2 and I've slowed down again on #1, allowing more creativity to be funneled into VC.

There's a lot of nonsense garbled on the internets about quitting the 'fic. I don't quit 'fics. I even add a chapter to my little Mega Man sidestory that nobody reads about every year or so. Well, not really. I might have quit that one. But I'm not quitting this! And barring the destruction of humanity, I won't. Because if I _do _quit, then the terrorists have won, and nobody wants that. Unless you're a terrorist.

* * *

"I'm serious. Please…kill me," Zuridan coughed, shaking violently as he had been for the past week and four days. 

Argam shook his head forcefully. "I can't. They took away my fish."

"Stab me with your horn, do _something_! Even _you're_ starting to look tasty."

"Hey!" One of the night elf guards rapped a truncheon against the cell bars testily. "Shut up!"

By now, Zuridan and Argam knew what that meant in Orcish.

"You don't understand," Zuridan pleaded, clawing madly at the ground toward their tormentor. "Cannibal. CAN-NI-BAL."

"Bur," the elf chuckled for what had to be the millionth time. Zuridan still didn't know what it translated to, but the Alliance liked saying it a lot.

"You can have a bite out of my arm," Argam offered. "I have enough to share." This was when Zuridan noticed that Argam had been gnawing on his forearm for who knows how long.

"Why are _you _eating yourself?" He asked, puzzled enough to forget his hunger.

"You kept talking about it, so I thought it sounded like a good idea."

"You know I only want to eat you because of a demon's spell, right?"

"I thought it was fun."

"No Argam, it's not fun."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, how do _you _like it?"

"I'm can't tell yet. Yesterday I was just chewing through hair, but I've almost gotten to the meat."

"I'd suggest stopping, but I don't think you'll listen."

"You're right," Argam affirmed. "I hope the elves aren't eating Xan."

* * *

Meridia Darkwater, in her orbit around Xan'Jin, came a bit closer. 

"They're going to execute you," she informed him, then continued pacing the floor of the tower.

_"Dere mus' be some kinda way outta here…"_ Xan sung to himself, ignoring the elf.

"I can't keep making up false information to please Luna."

_"Said da joker to da thief."_

"If you're going to do something, do it now."

_"Dere's too much confusion…"_

"Please."

_"I can' get no relief."_

"Over the last few weeks, Luna's built up a small army. She's turned Astranaar into a fortress."

_"Race o' Man dey, dey drink my wine…"_

"They're going to march on Splintertree Post within the week."

_"Blue men dig my eart'."_

"Don't you care?"

_"None of 'em along da line – _hell no – _know what any of it is wort'."_

"Luna wants to interrogate you herself one last time before your execution," Meridia sighed, stopping at a lookout port. "I had hoped you would have done something by now…I've never seen such an apathetic hero."

"People be throwin' out dat word a lot lately," Xan remarked casually. "I don' care anymore – go ahead an' call me a hero. I won' argue."

"Work with me," Meridia pleaded, turning around as an arrow from a trigger-happy sentinel zipped through the lookout port. "I'll help you."

Xan lifted a lazy eyebrow. "How?"

Meridia stuttered. "I-I don't know yet."

"Way I see it…" Xan began, stretching languidly on the couch. "Shit's gonna happen no matter what. I neva done notin' I wouldn'a done normally, an' dat be absolutely notin'. Fact dat I survived so long shows I be blessed. Why force it?"

"Uh…because you'll be lynched if you don't get off your ass and _do _something?"

"Relax. Sometin'll fall outta da sky an' squish Luna. Just watch."

Incidentally, at that very moment something _did _fall out of the sky and land in Ashenvale, though it was merely a dust mote and it squished nothing besides a small family of single-celled organisms on the head of an orc soldier.

"Okay, okay," Meridia held up her hands in defeat. "I get it, you won't think of a way out. I'll make you a deal. If I think of a plan to get us out of here, you'd better be willing to help out."

"Or what, babe?"

"Or I'll bump your execution up to _right now_."

"Dat's fair. But why don' joo jus' make a run for it? Why joo helpin' me?"

Meridia felt like every breath was a sigh these days. "I told you, Astranaar is a fortress now. Nobody gets in or out. If I try to scale the walls, they'll shoot me – if not on purpose, then on accident."

Xan nodded understandingly, looking out the window as Meridia had done to see a very intrepid little bird attempting to cross the Astranaar clearing. Before you could say "Oh crap, there's a bunch of psychotic warrior women shooting arrows at me," the bird was impaled by a fistful of jagged wooden shafts.

"I'm going out for awhile. I'll bring you some food later," Meridia promised, walking to the door and pushing it open. The portal clunked against the head of a human marine, one Robert Dillon. He had been sitting on the stairs, writing something on a pad of paper. Meridia froze, thinking he had been spying on her and writing down her plans of treachery. The first wave of relief came when she remembered that the entire conversation was in trollish, and unless Dillon majored in barbaric foreign languages then they were safe.

The second bout of relief hit when Dillon didn't appear to be frightened or worried about being found out – just annoyed that he had just been struck on the head by a door. Without a word, he stood up and ran off down the stairs, cradling the notepad like a gnoll would cradle something rancid.

Unbeknownst to anyone important, Robert Dillon was taking the notepad full of trollish to a man who _had _majored in barbaric foreign languages. This man was a Stormwind Marine by the name of James Marshall Hindrex, and he thought he had heard the makings of a great song coming from the prisoner's watchtower one night. He sent Dillon to write down anything the troll sang, and it was now being brought back to him for translation.

The entire reason for sending Dillon and Hindrex to Kalimdor was for the crime of being both talented musicians and talented warriors simultaneously. The Silver Hand – which was essentially judge, jury and executioner for the population of Stormwind – was mainly composed of blowhards and muscle-headed idiots hiding behind nifty magic. Neither stereotype is particularly conducive for talent, so when an extremely gifted individual comes along the Silver Hand tends to get jealous and find a way to be rid of him.

Being the talented musicians that they were, Hindrex and Dillon soon had two completely different versions of the song brought back from the troll. Dillon was the first to complete his version, and it prominently featured screeching harmonica and uninspired vocals. However, the song seemed to be made for Hindrex, who wrote psychedelic guitar lines to accompany the lyrics (which were better sung by a black man in the first place).

After surviving the forthcoming battle of Astranaar, Dillon and Hindrex would return to 'civilized' lands and publish their songs. Dillon, as usual, would do it first, but Hindrex, also as usual, would do it better. Hindrex's version of the song would make it into the top 40, becoming so successful that many people believed he made the original.

Xan had no idea the little ditty stewing in his brain would ever become a hit, and if he did, then he probably would not have forgotten it the next day.

* * *

Melchiah was worried. Not about escaping from the bleak, empty netherworld he was trapped in, but because swearing loudly no longer made him feel any better. Because of this, he had absolutely nothing to do until he was rescued. He had already contemplated how to murder the night elf bitch that put him here, and decided that as soon as he was free, he would slap her across the face. While not a very dire punishment coming from a Forsaken without a malicious curse, from Melchiah it was a very painful un-death sentence. 

During the week of vomiting and dysentery, he planned to drag her to the eastern coast and throw her into the maelstrom. There, she could wait out the last of her days spinning in an underwater vortex until such time as Melchiah found and killed Araj the Summoner and sent all his cursed little minions into oblivion with him.

This plan had taken a good deal of time to formulate, and the rest was filled with unabashed swearing. Now that not even a good rant could entertain, Melchiah had nothing left but to stab his sword into the intangible ground and wait for inevitable rescue. He had faith in Xan, simply because of the universal principle Melchiah had become familiar with throughout his undead life: Good things come to those who aren't looking for them.

* * *

Later that night, the door to Xan's plush holding cell creaked open. The troll was crouched under the window, gleefully tossing his dinner at the guards below. So enthralled was he by tormenting his tormentors that he didn't look behind him and naturally assumed it was Meridia coming to tell him the plan and maybe finally confess how much she had fallen for him over the past week and four days. 

So you can imagine Xan's surprise when he was jerked up by his scalp, painfully suspended in mid-air by a meaty fist. He spun himself around, coming face to face with an awfully familiar blond human. The man glared at him, then at a yellow book in his other hand marked "Trollish for Paladins."

"My name is Marek Belheim," he informed Xan with shaky trollish. He turned back to the book and began flipping through pages. Xan had to chuckle at the picture on the cover: a googly-eyed man in massive armor next to the words "A reference for the Warriors of Light."

"I intend to head you," he declared. Xan's jaw sagged, and he hastily set about protecting his happy sack. "And your…friends and…family." Xan silently shook his head. Marek paused, then flipped back to the previous page. "Oh. Apologies. I intend to cut your head. Cut it off. Like a sponge."

"Joo talkin' crazy, mon."

"And all the trolls you have intimate relations with."

"All zero of 'em?"

"Yes. No. Speak simple please thank you."

"Okay. I be Xan'Jin. What'choo got against me? I seen you before."

This took Marek several minutes to translate, and Xan was beginning to see spots. Fortunately, none of his precious hair had given way yet.

"You make me look like a contemptible person."

"Huh?"

"Oh. Humiliate. Yes, humiliation."

"Joo wanna kill me 'cause I humiliated joo?"

Another pause, more pages fluttering. Then, "Yes. Next week. At…execution."

"Cool. Anythin' else?"

It took two agonizing, literally hair-pulling minutes to find the answer in the book. "No." With a grumble, Marek released his captive and trudged off down the stairs. Xan gulped, taking a seat once more on the couch. This paladin, despite showing all the mental capacity of a small child beaten with a steel pipe, was now a considerable threat to Xan's well-being. Xan didn't like considerable threats to his well-being.

* * *

Back in the newly dug prison, Argam was discovering the wondrous properties of moonwell residue as his thoroughly-chewed arm began to heal. If Zuridan weren't so stark-raving mad, then he too would have realized that the leftover magic from the hollowed out well was replenishing his mana stores. The mana stores that had been drained by the night elves a week and five days ago. 

Zuridan was so stark-raving mad that he was willing to ask Argam a question that was very uncharacteristic of the impersonal orc.

"So, what _is _the deal with your schizophrenia?" He asked.

"It's not a very good story," Argam murmured plaintively. "But I've got a better one."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Once upon a time, there was a young Shaman who liked talking to his dead ancestors. He liked talking to them _so _much, they eventually materialized for him. He was so happy he sacrificed an entire family of prairie wolves to them. But then one of his ancestors asked the young Shaman to do a very strange thing for him. This ancestral spirit wanted to be alive again, so he asked the Shaman to borrow his body. He allowed the ancient spirit to possess him, and it tried to take over his mind. Another spirit – a nice spirit – jumped in too and tried to stop it. They both ended up trapped in the young Shaman's head, and shortly drove him insane."

Zuridan raised an eyebrow.

"Oh wait. That's the same story."

"You've got spirits trying to take over your mind?"

"Isn't it great?"

"Which one am I talking to right now?"

"You're talking to me," Argam pointed out simply. "Dumbass," he added, taking a cue from Melchiah.

"So…what about the other ones?"

"Itherian is over there," he said, pointing at a scrap of meat left over from their last meal. "And poor Moradon was inside my fishblade. He's the bad one."

"I gotta hope either one of them would have a better idea about getting us out of here."

"You're damn right." Argam's voice had suddenly taken on a more authoritative tone, and he was focused on the scrap of meat. "However. I can't control his body unless his mind – screwed up as it is – is incapacitated. I recently discovered that the best way to do this is to get him drunk."

"I don't think the night elves are gonna give us any beer."

"Well, you'd better hope they do, or we're not getting out of here."

"You're so wise, Mr. Meat Scrap," normal Argam awed.

"Shut up, you know I rue the day I tried to save you."

"Speaking of which, I wonder what we're going to do without Uncle Moradon."

"It would be very beneficial to me that you continue thinking he's gone. So keep doing that. Okay?"

It was all a little too disturbing for the half-crazed orc to handle, seeing his ally in an argument with himself.

"We haven't been properly introduced," Zuridan interrupted, crawling over the piece of meat. "You must be Itherian Stonehoof. I'm Zuridan Fargaze." With that, he grabbed the edge of the meat strip and shook it.

"Great Earthmother's mammaries…he's worse off than you are," Itherian rumbled. "Listen. Somehow, you've got to get a hold of some ethanol. That, or remember how to cast Earth Shock."

"But I'm _bad _at that…"

"I know. Just – aaaah!" Argam came back into focus, and looked up at Zuridan, who had a strip of meat hanging from his jaws. With the kind of laugh that gets you thrown into dark places, he slurped it up and grinned with the kind of grin that keeps you in a dark place for a very long time.

"You ate Itherian!" Argam gasped. "Dumbass!"

"He tasted like knowledge," Zuridan informed him. "Well, it's _my _knowledge now!" The orc hissed, swiping at Argam. Behind the bars, gold pieces shifted as bets were won and lost. The prison janitor had bet they would both crack before the new moon, and it helped his cause that one was cracked long before he was even imprisoned. He had _also _bet that one of them would eat the scrap of food left on the floor. As it stood, he estimated having enough gold by the execution to buy all the shops in Darnassus.

The first thing he planned to do was to have the current prison guards come and clean his bathrooms.

Meridia passed by quickly, just long enough to scoff at the gambling prison guards and the lucky janitor. She _was_ going to check on the Horde prisoners, but from hearing the deranged cackle and constant yelling, she deemed them a lost cause and decided to just escape with the troll. For quite literally the billionth time, she thought about what she was doing, and if she should turn her back on her people. Then, she looked back at the guards, hollering and carrying on and occasionally pelvic thrusting.

That was an answer in and of itself.

End

AN: I suppose I should have named _this _chapter 'All Along the Watchtower' but it's far too late. Besides, everybody likes more Led Zeppelin titles.

Originally, I wasn't going to give away Argam's past yet, but since you've all been so patient and since this _is _a pretty pivotal part of the 'story', it's just as well that I put it in now. So...happy birthday?


	23. Angel

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 23 – Angel**

By Genoscythe

AN: Granik will be back when it's feasible, but right now when they're all captured by the Alliance is _not _a very fitting time to make his grand entrance. Don't worry, you'll get your Granik. Just not now.

* * *

Marek Belheim had a secret passion, one that he never told anybody – not for fear of embarrassment, but for fear of utter disgust and _complete _social rejection. 

He liked to knit baby clothes. Out of babies.

It always calmed him down when he was feeling a hint of conscience trying to regain control, or when he was under pressure. Now, with the troll's execution looming closer and a lot of pressure being put on him to actually kill the beast, he felt the need to skin some babies.

Unfortunately (or fortunately if you're not Marek), there were no children, let alone babies, in Astranaar.

"Where the hell are all your children – you know, the ones frolicking in the streets?" He asked Luna Earthwindfire one night.

"Honey, we're immortal. We're children for about ten years or so, then we're teenagers for another ten, then we stay at a stage of early adulthood for pretty much the rest of eternity."

"God damn," Marek whistled. "Who's got it better than that?"

"Well, to be fair, the other races always have to call on us to take care of some ancient evil or another every couple hundred years. And by now you'd think they would learn to come to us _first_, but no. We're always lighting everyone's darkest hours, we're the last line of defense, the only thing that can stop the yadda yadda it's not as great as it sounds."

"So everything balances out?"

Luna started to laugh. "Oh, god no. We're still stronger than you, smarter than you, faster than you, more fair, kind, graceful, important, mystical and immortal. And we have way better sex, too."

Marek's face fell. "I'm sorry about that. That…doesn't usually happen."

"Relax, most humans do it their first time."

"Hey, I'm just a little bit on edge since I haven't had any babies to skin in awhile."

Luna jerked away, falling out of the bed but landing perfectly on her slender feet.

"Oh. I didn't say that last part out loud. It was a dream, honey. Come back to bed?"

"…not right now," she spoke hesitantly, getting dressed hastily. "I'm gonna go…make sure we don't have any newborns around. Okay?"

"Love you."

The door slammed before she could hear Marek making kissy-noises at her, which was probably good for her state of mind. It pained Luna to consort with the paladin, but she needed somebody as crazy as herself for support. He was also the strongest person in Astranaar, and that would surely come in handy in the upcoming holy war against the Horde. Luna didn't yet know about Marek's infallible tendency to run away at the very slightest hint of danger.

* * *

It was getting late, with four days left until the execution. Xan had been stewing – since that was pretty much all he could do – and he concluded that he would rather not die. In fact, he was actually willing to _try _to not die. He couldn't wait to tell Meridia the good news. 

Over the past two weeks, he had gotten virtually nowhere with the Horde sympathizer. It was probably because he spent their entire time together trying to hit on her, while she spent it trying to find a way to escape, but Xan'Jin couldn't tell. He also very much wanted to remove the hood and see what she was hiding, for better or worse. This was simple curiosity, and not driven by any kind of lust.

The door creaked open, and Xan instinctively curled into a defensive ball. The door shut quietly.

"What the _hell _are you doing?" Meridia asked, bewildered.

"Joo not da paladin?" Xan queried, exposing an eyeball just to be sure.

"Marek? No. Why would you think that?"

"He got in 'few days ago."

Meridia sat on an arm of the couch; the first time Xan had ever seen her sit down. "He doesn't know, does he? About _this_?"

"He don' even know propa trollish, babe. He be clueless." Xan finally deemed it safe to unfurl himself. "Joo got a plan?"

"I don't…no. I'm stumped. I thought maybe your friends could help us, but they've both gone insane."

"Argam's just like dat."

"The orc was laughing hysterically."

"Z's got issues, too."

"I think they were fighting over a scrap of meat."

"Sounds normal to me."

"You _travel _with these people?"

"Everywhere."

"You poor thing, no wonder you don't know what to do."

"I don' know what to do 'cause I ain' a soldier!" Xan suddenly burst, sitting upright now and looking at the silhouette of Meridia in the darkness. "I got dragged outta my village by my own parents. Dey signed me up, trew me in da army. I jus' be tryin' to serve my tree years witout dyin', babe."

"I…had no idea."

"Didn' expect ja to."

"Sorry, I've been forcing all this responsibility on you. I just assumed you were…"

"Some kinda hero?"

"Or at _least_ some kind of soldier."

Xan shook his head, taking a chance and sliding a little closer to her. She didn't seem to mind, but that could have been because she was more or less trapped on the end of the couch. Xan liked to pretend anyway.

"Now I told joo all dat, I tink I earned sometin'." Without further ado, Xan leapt and playfully clutched at Meridia's hood. At least, he tried to. She bent over backward, instinctively shooting out her palm and hitting Xan into the ceiling. As he rebounded, missing the couch and landing on the nightstand, Meridia realized she might have acted a bit too quickly.

"…please?" Xan asked mutely, rolling off the nightstand.

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"I can tell."

"It's not a point of pride."

"I can see dat, too."

"It would almost be less painful if you could figure it out yourself."

Xan crawled back onto the couch. "Le's see. Joo speak trollish, but joo not a troll. Joo keep joo face under a hood, but joo got normal eyes. Lemme guess. Joo got a pair o' tusks?"

Silently, Meridia turned on the lamp on a table that, in the future, would be called a coffee table, but since coffee had not yet been invented, was simply referred to as a 'knick-knack display'. With her face barely illuminated by the cerulean glow, she threw back her hood and lowered the mask. Xan'Jin whistled.

"Babe, joo be da prettiest troll I eva laid eyes on."

"Don't call me a troll," Meridia snapped. For Xan was absolutely correct, one of the best guesses he will ever make. There was nothing unusual about the rest of her face – it was genuine night elf. Her skin was, however, in a confusion between blue and purple, and her braided hair a healthy crimson. Xan could not have known this in the meager light, so instead he merely noted the little tusks curling from the sides of her mouth. "Troll is an ugly word."

"Ja. So is sphincter, but we all got 'em."

Meridia cracked a rare smile. "This is why I've never fit in, why I'm so willing to help you."

"What joo be – elf or troll?"

"I'm neither," Meridia began. "It's not something the night elves are proud of, but we were once trolls until we discovered the Well of Eternity. I'm told my family didn't want any part of it. They thought immortality sounded like a cheap sales pitch. My ancestors were the _only _ones who didn't bathe in the well, but the others tried to force it on them. This is where the details get murky, but you can see for yourself it didn't work all the way.

I'm a second generation Darkwater, so I know more about my heritage than most. I've been reading up on trolls – the language, the religion.When I was a kid, I used to try summoning Hakkar," she added the last bit with a chuckle. Xan, knowing more about the vengeful serpent god than she probably did, was not amused.

"The original Darkwaters are all dead – killed by night elves, actually."

"Don' like ya kind much?"

"Actually, they were terrorists. They tried to destroy the Barrow Dens, but the Sentinels caught them and executed them as trolls. Mom and Pop Darkwater painted their faces and only spoke trollish, so they didn't exactly make it easier on themselves or get any sympathy from me or my brothers."

"Dere's more o' you?"

"Yeah, but they're all lazy bastards…a bit like you, actually."

"It's in da blood," Xan conceded.

"I really should have contacted them before this situation got too serious…" she muttered, gazing out the window. "We could have gotten some outside help, and maybe had a chance at escaping."

"Well, Argam an' Z are pretty good in a fight, so long as Z ain' hungry an' Argam ain' sober."

"You _do _have odd companions."

"Hey – whateva happened to Mel?"

"Who?"

"Da zombie guy dat Luna's got trapped."

"She's still wearing the bracer."

"If joo can get it from her, he could probly take out everyone here himself." While it appeared Xan was helping Meridia formulate a plan to escape, his brain was focused almost entirely on the new song it was brewing. Sensing a change in the winds, Stormwind Marine James Marshall Hindrex shot up from his bunk, grabbed a pen and some paper and raced to the watchtower serving as Xan'Jin's prison.

Back in the tower, Meridia gave a sigh. Yes, another one. "I don't know how I would. She only takes it off in her room. Nobody respects me anymore, so I can't get through the guards. Luna's built a bunker for herself out of the last remaining moonwell, and it's impossible to break into. We'll have to do without your friend."

"Den we need Argam an' Z." They both nodded gravely. "Make it happen."

"I'll see what I can do." Meridia hesitated for a moment, leveling him with an important stare. There was meaning behind it, but all Xan could do was resist from shouting "Score!" as loud as he could. Then, she picked herself up off the arm of the couch and tread softly to the door.

After she had left, Xan felt it necessary to let the song out of his head. James Hindrex elicited a small giggle of anticipation.

_"Angel came down from heaven yestaday."_ Meridia paused at the height of the stairs, stopped, leaned back against the door. _"She stayed wit' me jus' long enough to rescue me."_

"Hot damn…" Hindrex muttered, jotting down the translation. "Smells like a chart-topper."

_"And she told me a story yestaday…about the sweet love between the moon an' da deep blue sea."_

Meridia sighed, this time out of content and not of any impending mortal doom as usual.

_"An' I said 'fly on, my sweet angel' – "_ Xan was interrupted as the door opened a crack.

"I have to be absolutely honest with you," Meridia whispered playfully from the other side of the wood portal. "You sing terribly. I mean, that voice was not made to fluctuate."

"So?" Xan retorted, just a little bitter but not very surprised at her accurate assessment.

"There's something to your songwriting, though."

Xan perked up, in more places than one.

"You got that right," Hindrex muttered below.

"It's almost like some deity wanted to torture you by giving you lyrical genius but making you the worst sing – "

"_Okay_. Message heard, babe."

"Would you like a guitar?"

"Joo prefer dat to singin'?"

"I just might."

"Den sure."

"Score!" Hindrex blurted. Both Xan and Meridia jumped.

"Whazat?"

"It sounds like one of the humans. Nothing to worry about."

Hindrex was already running back to the marines' tent to get his guitar.

"Gonna see joo tomorrow?" Xan asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. I've got an idea."

"Joo gonna…" The door slammed. "…not tell me?"

* * *

The next day found Vismund Cygnus meditating, just like the day before it and the day before that. They had destroyed his moonwells, drained them out and unceremoniously dumped a pair of Horde soldiers inside. He would help them escape, but he had a strong feeling the rapid militarization of Astranaar would backfire soon – and hard. For one thing, their water supply now came from the tainted lake surrounding the town, and for another, most of their priests had left before Astranaar went on lockdown. 

A lone elf supply wagon from Darkshore sat outside the gates; the driver was long scared off and the contents left to rot for fear of them being some kind of Horde trap. Cygnus didn't even try to argue the logic in this. Hanging from the inn, a massive banner depicting a massive night elf waving a massive Sentinel flag above a massive army of battle-ready women floated imposingly. In a strange, blocky text, words read: **Mother Luna Commands You Die For What You Believe In!**

So on top of having an impure water source, rapidly dwindling supplies and a total lack of healers (excluding himself, but he refused to fight for these maniacs), the night elves were being cattle-prodded with propaganda all day long.

It made it hard to concentrate on meditating.

"Cygnus," Meridia Darkwater, the sole provider of intelligent thought these days, greeted him.

"You don't seem well, Meridia…" Cygnus observed.

"You can tell just from looking at my eyes?"

"I'm a priest. I don't have to look at you at all."

"…right. I was wondering about something." Meridia attempted to sit beside him, but she immediately slipped into the empty moonwell and landed on the steel bars caging in the Horde soldiers beneath. A big furry hand shot up and tried to grab her leg, which was dangling between the bars.

Cygnus was quick to pull her back up. "He means you no harm. The tauren, I've heard, is quite mad."

Meridia tried steadying her breath, found it remarkably calming to think of the song Xan'Jin had sung the previous night, then continued. "I'm planning to escape with the troll, and I need your help."

"You're turning your back on the Alliance?"

"Yes. No. Maybe. I'll think about it when I'm not surrounded by siege weapons."

"Well – "

"Speaking of which, where did they _get _all these? I mean, most of them aren't even regulation siege weapons. That's a catapult loaded with spears, and that one looks like a log with a bear strapped on the end…is that supposed to be a battering ram?"

Cygnus cleared his throat, a quiet and simultaneously forceful gesture.

"Sorry. I just can't believe Luna's done all this to Astranaar."

"I thought you already knew how easy it is to influence stupid people."

Meridia turned her attention to a pair of night elf men having a pelvic thrusting contest. One of the human Marines tried to join in, but both night elves turned on him and literally blew him away with the sheer force of their combined thrusting. Soon enough, Captain Luna Earthwindfire herself strode by, and everyone present (even the downed Marine) stopped their nincompoopery and saluted her.

"Come to think of it, I don't even know why I'm surprised…"

"When do you require my help?"

The sudden conversation shift caught Meridia off-guard. "The day of the execution. I'm going to start a commotion, start bad-mouthing Luna and Astranaar, maybe kill a guard if I have to. If they're as predictable as I think they are, they'll lock me up and execute me with the troll."

"If that's your idea of 'escape' then – "

"No, no. I want you to revive us afterward."

"You mean afterward with all the people still dancing and chanting around your lifeless corpses, or afterward with your bodies flung over the wall where I can't reach them?"

Meridia's face fell. "Oh shit."

"Let me make a suggestion, then," Cygnus began, eyes darting about quickly. "After they've killed you, I will ask that they be given to me for a proper burial. There's a decent chance they'll want to chop up your bodies and serve you for dinner, but if they _don't _do that – or cremate you – then they will most likely give them up without much of a fight. That's on the outside chance, mind you."

"And you'll revive us then?"

"Yes. You can then either hide out until their economy finishes collapsing or until they leave to destroy Splintertree Post, and then freedom is yours for the taking."

"I like it. There's a much greater chance of survival than all my other plans."

"Even though it involves you dying."

"Precisely."

"If you would, please leave me now. I need to pray for you as much as four days will allow."

**End**


	24. Hail to the Thief, part 1

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 24 – Hail to the Thief, part 1**

By Genoscythe

AN: This _was _going to be all one chapter, but I realized the entire second half is a chapter in itself, so I'll get this out now and part will be out shortly.

* * *

It was impossible to tell how many days had gone by in the cell for Argam and Zuridan, but it was of no consequence because Argam never kept track of days to begin with. The orc was in a corner, gnawing on the wall, and the tauren was standing in exactly the spot the night elves had dumped him in roughly three weeks ago. 

The jailers seemed unreasonably happy, especially after losing so much gold to the janitor (who was still winning bets because Zuridan started eating the wall and Argam never moved). They were all clattering wooden mugs of alcohol together, drinking and singing songs. Above, the same general routine could be heard in the town square.

Argam hoped they were all celebrating the release of their captives. Releasing was nice. He had a terrible cramp in his knees, and he was getting tired of sleeping upright.

Suddenly, a Sentinel appeared at the foot of the stairwell to their right. She barked something in elvish, beckoning up the stairs and toward the commotion on the surface. Hastily, the jailers all dropped their mugs and ran, leaving the two Horde soldiers completely unsupervised.

Argam looked intently at a mug that had landed against the bars. The shimmery liquid inside looked inviting.

"Drink me, you wankmongering twatfish," said the beer stein.

"Uncle Itherian, you're alive!"

"I've been dead for hundreds of years, apparently just before my species started _inbreeding_."

"But…I can't reach it."

"Why the hell not? It couldn't be any easier to get!"

"If I move, I might die."

"If you don't move, you will _definitely _die. They're holding an execution for Xan'Jin up above, and you'll be next."

"Oh, right!" Argam exclaimed, rushing forward and grabbing the beer mug's handle. "I forgot about Xan."

"Just drink it."

Through the bars, Argam managed to get most of the alcohol in his mouth, but most was more than enough. This was no ordinary alcohol. This was _night elf_ alcohol, brewed for much more heavyweight beings (but not literally, because never in history has there been a fat elf) than a young tauren. Instantly, Argam was out of commission, and Itherian Stonehoof rose from the depths of his consciousness to take the reins. Conducting Argam's body like a puppet on strings, he flung out his hands and the jail cell blew wide open in a concussion of green energy.

The pent-up mana provided by the moonwell residue, combined with the pent-up exasperation Itherian felt toward young people these days, amplified the Earth Shock by many times its ordinary power. As such, the entire bunker shook violently and sent the deafening boom to echo up the stairs, out onto the execution grounds.

* * *

Two days ago… 

Xan'Jin strummed listlessly on the large guitar Meridia had left on his doorstep. He found it odd that she didn't come in to talk to him, and instead merely knocked on the door and ran before he could even catch sight of her. Maybe she was nervous, being in his presence after he wowed her with that song that he couldn't remember for the life of him.

He then began playing a tune that, if he could recall them, would go perfectly with the lyrics he had sung a week ago. Hindrex recalled them, and sitting on the windowsill looking out at the town, he began changing the guitar tabs he had written with Dillon. Astonishingly, the troll's were much better.

Back in the watchtower, Xan's musical escape ground to a halt as a familiar, hysterical voice cut through the morning air. Perched just outside of view, Hindrex groaned.

"She's poisoning your minds! You think this is all fun and games? You think this is gonna last forever? Nobody can live like this!"

It was Meridia, and she was completely blowing her cover. Being largely ignored by the general population of Astranaar, Xan assumed their only chance of survival was her anonymity. He put down the guitar and flung open a window. It made a soft thunking noise, and the wall seemed to moan in agony, but he could hardly be bothered with that now.

Meridia was now holding up some very obscene hand signals. "Down with the system! Down with 'Mother' Luna!" Already, a small crowd of people had gathered around her, radiating enough righteous indignation to melt a stick of butter. Some were brandishing weapons, forcing her to back up. "You know what? Forget it! I'm no Lieutenant! I have no power, and neither do you! Open your eyes, you're being herded like sheep!" Angrily, she threw her Lieutenant's insignia at the nearest night elf. He drew a sword and jabbed at her. Xan flinched, accidentally elbowing the window and knocking it back against whatever was soft and moaning in quiet anguish.

"A sheep with a sword in its mouth is still just a sheep!" She turned the blade away with the palm of her hand, decking the elf with her other fist. "You know what?" Meridia repeated. "You can all consider me a member of the Horde now. Hell, I _look _the part!" At this, she ripped off her face mask and flung back the hood. More jeering, raising to a vicious level of intensity.

Now the Sentinels were getting involved, circling Meridia and blocking off the furious crowd. Xan desperately wanted to throw the guitar at them, and he was about to until a whisper from behind the window said "Please god, that's _my _guitar…" Deciding that his conscience had finally returned, he felt he should at least heed its words now.

The Sentinels knocked Meridia to the ground, locking a pair of strange handcuffs around her wrists. They chattered quickly, then began dragging her to the tower. Xan sighed, shook his head, closed the window, and wondered what it was that subsequently fell off the windowsill. It was shaped like a human, screamed like a human, and made an ungraceful splash into a reflection pool like a human. But why would a human be listening to him play the guitar…?

Xan'Jin's thoughts were interrupted by the banging of the door and the dumping of Meridia's limp form onto the floor.

"Bur," one of the Sentinels chuckled before slamming and locking the door on both of them. Xan rushed to Meridia, lifting her head up for examination. In subduing her, the Sentinels had left a nasty gash on Meridia's forehead, and without thinking Xan pricked his finger on one of his tusks, smearing a bit of his blood on the cut.

"What the hell…" Meridia muttered as he finished, shaking her head and flopping back onto the ground. "What did you just put on my head?"

"Troll's blood. Fo' healin'."

"Oh…" Her surprise melted into some of the most sincere gratitude Xan had ever heard. "Thank you."

"Yeah…" Xan muttered, unceremoniously flipping her onto her chest so he could examine the handcuffs. She grunted at the sudden drop, but quickly eased.

"I never thought someone like you would shed your own blood for someone else."

"I know. _Still _can' figure out why I did it." He jerked on the handcuffs, found that they refused to move. "Da hell? I can' undo these."

"They're enchanted," Meridia informed him. "Wow, the cut's better already."

"Should be."

"Can you at least prop me up on the couch?"

"Gimme a sec."

"Xan…grab lower, please."

"Oh! I didn'…"

"I understand. I'll let you know when you can touch those."

"I didn' mean – "

"I know. _I _did."

Finally, Xan had managed to get Meridia in a position on the couch that prevented her from sliding off. He sat on the opposite end, eaten up with the knowledge that he had something very important to ask her, but at the sudden, unexplainable interaction between them, he had completely forgotten.

Then, Meridia's Lieutenant insignia clanked violently against the window and Xan remembered.

"Why'd joo blow up like dat?"

"It's all part of the plan, silly."

"_Wha' plan_? Joo neva told me."

"Right. Sorry. Okay, my plan is…we get executed together."

Xan couldn't stop laughing. He was holding onto the hope that, somehow, Meridia was smarter, more sensible, than the kind of people he normally dealt with. She put up a good front, acting sane and all. But now it was all out in the open.

"You're not letting me finish."

"If dere ain' no aftalife, joo ain' got notin' else to say."

"_Listen_ to me! God, if my hands weren't cuffed, I'd slap you."

"Listenin'."

"Okay. We get executed, and then a human I know – he's a priest – will revive us and keep us hidden until it's safe to come out."

"When's dat?"

"Whenever they start dying from the tainted water, or whenever they go get themselves killed at Splintertree Post."

"How 'bout my friends?"

"Likely going to be executed right after us. I assume Cygnus is going to try and save them, too."

"So how come joo gettin' yaself executed _with_ us?"

"Because I want out of this, too. If I don't escape with you, they'll force me to attack Splintertree with them. I don't want to kill any Horde almost as much as I don't want to get slaughtered by them."

"Joo really tink we be dat much betta, huh?"

"No," Meridia admitted, flushing purple. "In all honesty, Splintertree would probably be wiped out under normal circumstances. However, when the Astranaar Sentinels get there and try to fight, they'll find out just how malnutrition affects a combat unit. That, and they've lost all sense of tactics and leadership but for Luna's word."

"Was that my name I heard, Lieutenant?" The door unlocked, and the pale white night elf strode in. "I should have known you were up to something, really. If only I had seen what was under that hood…"

"What do you want?" Meridia growled. Xan didn't know what she was saying anymore, but he was pretty damn intimidated anyway.

"I _was _planning on interrogating the troll today," Luna began, circling around the couch like a shark. "But since he doesn't _actually_ know anything about Splintertree Post, as you have shown me by displaying your true allegiance a few moments ago, I'm just here to tell you both that you'll be executed in two days to kick off our first annual Kill Everything parade."

"Me?" Meridia cried, with convincing desperation. "Why me? I haven't really done anything…!"

"Except lie to your commanding officer – "

"You're not my commanding officer! If High Command had _any _idea about what you've done to a thriving trade center, they'd execute you!"

"But they don't," Luna countered. "And they never will if I bring 'em a big sack of Horde heads to distract them."

"She say sometin' 'bout me?" Xan asked.

"Let me do the talking," Meridia hissed. "And you'll bring them nothing but a big casualty report. Luna, _Captain_, have you ever heard of malnutrition?"

"I don't see how – "

"Or did anybody tell you when you first barged in here that the lake around Astranaar is corrupted? Demons use it for drinking water."

"What demons?"

"The ones in the forest. Look out the window – no, over the wall."

"Oh, hey! That's new. You think, if we mounted one of those little dog things onto a ballista…"

"No. Forget the demons. The point is, you're obviously motivated by blind revenge, you know how to push people's buttons but not how to command, and you're going to bring a whole lot of people down with you."

"A whole lot of Horde people, right?"

"No. A whole lot of our people."

Luna finally caught the gist of the conversation, and she colored. "Enough! I didn't come up here to hear a lecture!" She turned about, strode to the door, stopped. "You know when the execution is. Spend your time wisely." And with that, she was gone.

Xan stood as silence returned to the room. "I didn' catch any o' dat. Joo gonna explain?"

Meridia blew a lock of red hair out of her glimmering eyes, easing back into the couch. "Let me hear what you've been working on with that guitar."

* * *

Present day (figuratively)… 

Through Argam Stonehoof's nostrils, Itherian smelled the first whiff of fresh air he'd had in weeks. Oddly, it smelled a little like alcohol, elvish food and mob mentality. Yes, of course ancestral spirits can smell mob mentality. They're ancestral.

Ducking behind an errant stone, Argam's eyes followed the scent to the center of the town. A massive bonfire billowed smoke into the tree branches above, which were long vacated by singing birds and frolicking squirrels so the nature-conscious elves, even in their homicidal state, had not to worry about them. This did not matter to Itherian Stonehoof.

What mattered was the gallows erected behind the bonfire. An obviously hastily-constructed platform, it was sparse for a night elf contraption. Only two poles, two simple nooses, and two trapdoors. Conveniently, two figures now stood on it, displayed to all the elves (and the few humans) eating around the bonfire. One was definitely Xan'Jin – as the lanky arms and pirate hat would attest, but from this distance it looked like _another _troll was standing next to him.

_I'd ask you if we could talk face to face, _a voice suddenly cut into Itherian's mind, almost like he were being contacted by another spirit. _But since _your _face is rotting six feet underground, please allow me to continue with telepathy._

_Are you one of the elves? _Itherian asked, following the spectral connection back to its source. He was surprised to find that the speaker was sitting just on the other side of his hiding spot.

_No. I am a human priest and my name is Vismund Cygnus. I have been observing you, your brother, and the poor host you've been fighting over. Moradon Stonehoof _is _your brother, did I judge correctly?_

Itherian did not immediately respond. This one knew much, for a human. He knew how to use telepathy for more than a silent, universal language anyway.

_Why don't you seem hostile?_ Itherian asked.

_WHY AREN'T YOU KILLING HIM YET? _Moradon raged from the depths of Argam's fragmented intelligence.

_Ask him if he knows where my fish is, _Argam himself suggested. As always, Itherian ignored them both.

_I am not hostile, _Cygnus continued, unaware of the internal exchange. _This is because, when you know as much as I do, hostility is as futile as most other primal urges. I'm not suggesting that I do not believe in hostility, because that will make me a hypocrite in a few minutes. I am simply saying that hostility based on something as flimsy as race and origins is a useless gesture._

_Okay, shut up. I don't think you realize what a dangerous position I'm in. Get to the point._

_You're in no danger because all the Sentinels are getting ready to watch the show, but I'll get to the point anyway. I sympathize with you, and especially with the half-troll, half-night elf woman about to be hung in the town square. I was planning on taking their bodies and reviving them after the execution, but now that you and the warlock are free, that may not be necessary._

_Zuridan is somewhat incapacitated, but I'm sure we can coax him out of the cell if we tell him there's people to feed on out here._

_Nevertheless, I sense much power in you._

_I have a lifetime's worth of spells and experience, a supersaturated mana reserve, and I _still _can't take on all those Alliance_ _alone. However…_A thought occurred to Itherian, one he simultaneously hated and feared. Of course, there wasn't much choice. _I will enlist the help of my brother. We can share this body, but I need a weapon first. Where did the night elves take my…fishblade?_

_The fish was rotten. They threw it away. In fact, most of your weapons were in such a sorry state that they were melted down into statues of Captain Luna. She _did _keep the troll's sword, but she most likely has it with her._

_The wingblade would have been suitable…_

_The armory is probably emptied out, too. They're planning to attack Splintertree Post right after this._

Argam's gaze was suddenly pulled upward toward a nearby watchtower, influenced by Moradon's spirit. On the windowsill, a large blunt object sat longingly.

"Is that…a guitar?" Itherian whispered aloud.

_I saw Jimmy Hindrex give it to the troll,_ Cygnus explained. _You consider that a weapon?_

"Yes. It'll do." While Itherian snuck across the road as stealthily as an overgrown tauren can, it appeared the elves were finished eating their emergency 'feast' rations. He hurried up the stairs, trying not to make them creak any more than they had to.

Knocking open the door, Itherian was surprised to find a Sentinel standing at the far end of the room. He dove for the guitar as she turned around, a difficult feat for such a large mass to accomplish. Grabbing the neck, he relinquished a bit of his control to Moradon, who swung it around to stop a falling sword.

The blade lodged in the side of the guitar, and Moradon spun it over. The elf, however, refused to let go, and she was pulled toward the window. Casually, Moradon whacked her as she stumbled past, sending her out the window and into the audience below.

"I immediately regret not bringing Zuridan," Itherian muttered as at least fifty angry voices rose toward the watchtower.

**End**

AN: Just like to point out that using troll's blood for healing was _not _my idea, and even though I may have eventually thought of it myself, I give credit to Evelynn since her story was my inspiration for that section.


	25. Hail to the Thief, part 2

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 24 – Hail to the Thief, part 2**

By Genoscythe

AN: I've been working on this almost nonstop since yesterday, so I might be a tad burnt out. Either way, you've got yourself a nice chapter and the end of the whole 'captured by night elves' storyline. Enjoy.

* * *

"You heard it too, didn't you?" Meridia asked Xan, who was twiddling his thumbs nervously. Revival or not, letting himself be hung went against everything he stood for. He _half_-assed things, he didn't _not_-ass them. 

"Heard all da songs 'bout Horde keelin', heard Marek ova dere cacklin' like a madman, or heard Luna's speech before dinna?"

"Heard the explosion coming from the jail," Meridia corrected. "You _must _have heard it. The others were just too dumb to notice."

"Joo be givin' me too much credit."

"But…you really didn't hear it?"

"I vaguely recall not hearin' anytin'." Xan strained to see in the direction Meridia was pointing, and he could just make out a blond man crouched in front of a rock. This in no way seemed like something to excite Meridia the way it did.

"Well, either your friends just escaped, or they blew themselves up."

"Since luck ain' goin' my way today, I be guessin' da second one."

"But if they _did _escape, do you think they could free us without all the hanging and death?"

"Ja, if dey don' jus' run fo' it."

"Silence!" Captain Luna Earthwindfire bellowed, stepping up to the gallows. "I'm itching for revenge, so let's hang the bastards and be on our way!" The crowd was confused, apparently hoping for a better speech. Luna sighed. "We now execute these oppressors of the Astranaar Commonwealth of United Night Elves and Some Human Marines with the same impunity that we will soon exercise on the population of Splintertree Post, and then all of the Horde! Victory for the ACUNESHM!"

This had the desired effect on the audience. They started cheering again, and Luna gestured for Marek to step onto the platform. He strode behind Meridia, grinning maliciously, but all Xan could see was the giant blob of fur, hooves and a horn attempting to sneak around the crowd of Alliance. He was amazed that Argam wasn't running for his life like Xan had always taught him to do, but he then reminded himself that Argam was unswervingly loyal for all his faults.

"Xan, if something happens…" Meridia choked, suddenly overcome with fear as Marek slid the noose around her neck.

"Notin's gonna happen, babe. We be fine."

"No, no…" Marek pushed her forward, onto the trapdoor. Trembling, Meridia reached out and clutched Xan's hand. "I don't want to die like my parents."

Xan gave her a level stare. The crowd was laughing for a reason neither of them could fathom. "If joo die, I'll fight trough hell to get ya back."

Meridia flung her head, casting away a tear. "Coming from you, that's – " The trapdoor disappeared, and Meridia fell with a sickening _snap_. Xan's jaw dropped, and Marek beamed.

"Oh, joo gotcha 'self a fucking death wish, mon," Xan rumbled as the paladin set the noose around his neck. "Joo betta undastand me, 'cause I ain' makin' dese threats fo' no reason."

"I comprehend," Marek said from behind. "But you die now. I die never. I waited long time for this."

"Joo got no idea."

"You are small plus weak. I am not afraid."

"Any day now, Marek," Luna muttered impatiently. The crowd was waiting in silent anticipation, though some were still staring at the dangling corpse of their former captain in shock and a slow horror toward what they'd become. The tense moment that Xan spent shuffling onto the trapdoor was diffused, suddenly, by the twang of breaking strings.

The strings were followed by a scream. The scream was followed by a Sentinel. The Sentinel was following the laws of gravity, so she had no choice but to plummet out the window of a nearby watchtower into the bonfire below. In the midst of the crowd, if one were close enough one could hear a bandaged James Marshall Hindrex whispering "Please god, that's _my _guitar…" The elves got to their feet, shouting and raising their weapons in intimidation. Marek looked up from his work to see a familiar tauren framed by the broken window.

When he looked back down, the noose was empty. Cursing in the worst trollish curse he knew, he stumbled about, blindly swiping at the air. If the troll were anywhere nearby…

Marek soon had bigger concerns. A concussion of green energy smashed the bonfire, and the burning logs flew apart like leaves in a storm. However, unlike leaves in a storm, they each left a trail of death and destruction where they passed. Some would support the destructive properties of leaves, especially when frozen sharp, but it doesn't fit the analogy so we'll ignore that for now.

Argam Stonehoof leapt out the window, landing guitar-first on an unscathed night elf. She went down with a yelp of surprise, and Argam used her to cushion his fall with sever detriment to her internal organs. Immediately, several arrows from the other watchtowers zipped at Argam, but they were all stopped by a mysterious golden glow.

Itherian turned his attention to the watchtowers, throwing a bolt of chain lightning at one and watching it happily skip to the other two. Already, he could feel Argam's body growing weary. It wasn't physically ready for the kind of spells Itherian knew how to cast, but that was where Moradon came in. He took a backseat as the raging warrior spirit came to the fore, bashing elves living and dying with the guitar indiscriminately.

_You should focus on the elves that aren't on fire, _Itherian suggested.

_I'll focus on WHATEVER NEEDS MORE FOCUSING! _Moradon brilliantly retorted while whacking a dead body crushed by a burning log. The scene was total chaos, and many of the elves that weren't harmed by the explosion of the bonfire had no idea what to attack or how. To make matters worse for the elves, their fearless leader had retreated with the paladin behind the gallows. The elves told themselves they were looking for the troll, but it did nothing to help their shattered morale.

On the other side of the smoldering crater that used to be a bonfire, an organized fighting force was being assembled to combat the foe bashing directionless Alliance soldiers on the opposite end of the battlefield. They were ready to march, but a green form in black robes dashed out of the shadows and tackled their leader.

The orc ripped open the elf's jugular vein and began gorging himself on the inside of his neck.

"S-should we kill it?" One of the soldiers asked another.

"No way…too grossed out," came the response. The orc soon turned toward them, and a good half of their force scattered immediately. The rest went into disarray as the orc leapt into their midst, biting and clawing like an animal. Between the two Horde soldiers under the watchful eye of Vismund Cygnus, the entire population of Astranaar was being systematically brought down.

* * *

All Luna could think was _Thank god we never made it to Splintertree. That would have been embarrassing._ She was ostensibly searching, with Marek Belheim, for the missing troll, though she was really just using an excuse to get closer to the exit. 

"Find him yet, honey?" Marek called over the screaming and crackling of fire.

"Not…yet…baby." Luna was steadily inching closer to the front gate, and when she was sure Marek's back was turned, she bolted for it. However, after she pulled open the massive log gate just enough to slip through, her path was barred by an unusually well-dressed night elf with neatly-trimmed eyebrows.

"Captain Meridia Darkwater?" The elf asked, oblivious to Luna's frantic state. "I am Fangorian Larkvalesong, magistrate of Ashenvale. You remember me from the last inspection?"

There was a pause as someone let out an especially anguished howl. "…yeah. I totally do."

"I'm here on behalf of High Command, as you probably know."

"Of course."

"We haven't heard from Astranaar in three weeks."

"Yes, well…"

"And I'm having trouble remembering this crude wall you've built. It wasn't here the last time I had to check up on you."

"Uh, when was that again?"

"That was four weeks ago."

"That's right! We decided to build a wall out of logs to, you know, help the atmosphere of the whole place. The natural wood really gives you a euphoric…peace of mind.

"I would say it feels more barbaric and foreboding, but if – "

"In _fact_, we've been so busy making this wall that we forgot to send a report to Command."

"Oh? Well, that makes sense." The magistrate turned to go, but suddenly stopped. "Wait. Curiosity is simply killing my cat. What's all the screaming for?"

Luna went rigid. "Fffffffff…or training. We're doing a training exercise right now."

The magistrate raised an impeccably-groomed eyebrow. "The Sentinels were dispatched to Astranaar to protect a valuable trade route, not to fight in the war. Explain yourself. Or, better yet, open the gate all the way."

"Oooh, sorry. Can't."

"Why?"

"It's broken."

"The gate that you've been working on for _three weeks _without pause is already broken?" The magistrate finally looked skeptical.

"Well, we're not _done _with it yet," Luna explained, implying but not actually adding a 'duh' on the end.

"Ah. Well then, do as you were." The magistrate attempted to leave again, and Luna began closing the gate with a satisfied sigh. Then, she noticed some things were missing.

"Wait!" She called to the magistrate. "What happened to my bracer?" He turned around, and she held up the bare forearm in question. "The one right here. Where did it go?"

"I didn't notice."

"Or my sword. Did you see either of those things, maybe _floating _away?"

The magistrate gave her a sidelong glance, then hurried off down the road without saying a word. Very slowly, Luna shut the gate and turned around. On the ground lay her bracer, and above it dangled her sword in the hands of the very troll she'd stolen it from.

The troll – Meridia had called him Xan'Jin – slammed the sword down on her bracer, and it split open down the middle. Out of the crack, an ethereal mist rose into the air and drifted toward a nearby corpse. Luna had to laugh to keep from screaming.

Before she knew it, the troll had disappeared again. However, she had a much greater concern. Silhouetted by the fires, a lumpy form was rising from the ground, slowly taking shape. It stumbled forward, ever straightening, ever sharpening.

"Does this seem…a little _familiar _to you?" The twisting form spoke in common unevenly. "Do you recognize this from your nightmares?"

"The one about the evil leprechaun and the man with the silver chains around his neck? No, this doesn't seem familiar."

The creature was silent for a moment, unmoving. Then, "I didn't give you that one. I'll have to remember that for another time. But no, I'm talking about the nightmares you've been having ever since you imprisoned that Forsaken. The nightmares where Astranaar is burning and your little bracer cracks open. Do you remember yet? The ones where the Forsaken comes back and drags your pitiful soul down into hell with him."

"Yes, I remember those too."

The creature was so close Luna could see the bones of its face shifting under its parchment skin. Suddenly, a pair of sickly yellow eyes flickered on. "Good, so none of this should surprise you."

"I – I still have a bow and arrow! I'm not helpless!"

"So use it."

Luna merely whimpered, shrinking back against the gate. Melchiah paused, hesitating whether or not he should do what he was about to do. Then he shrugged and slapped Luna across the face. His claws left four ragged gashes on her cheek, but altogether Luna was not impressed. She straightened, calming.

"That was it? I imprison you for three weeks in a barren netherworld, and all I get is a slap in the face?" She asked shakily. Melchiah said nothing. Luna was about to continue speaking, but she suddenly doubled over and began making gurgling noises. As much as Melchiah wanted to watch, he had to find Zuridan so they could put her in a bag for transport. He personally didn't mind carrying her himself, but his comrades probably didn't want elf fluids raining down on them for the next seven days.

* * *

Marek Belheim lifted a rock, looking under it for any sign of the troll. He found a gnome skull, but otherwise no luck. _Damn, commitments are harder than I thought they would be…_He turned to a barrel, found a Marine by the name of Robert Dillon hiding inside, and kept going. It didn't occur to Marek that the troll was probably invisible and stalking him, but a lot of things never occur to Marek Belheim until it's too late. 

He decided to go back to Luna and regroup, but as he turned around he walked right into something soft and not quite visible. The next thing he knew, a curved blade was swinging wildly in his face, just barely scratching the bridge of his nose. Marek leapt back, feeling his nose and finding a drop of blood. He screamed as the troll, now visible, strode forward deliberately. He didn't know how to hold the sword, much less use it, but Marek was out of his mind with pain and anguish so it looked like the Grim Reaper himself was coming for his pretty face.

Xan'Jin lunged, stabbing haphazardly with the wingblade. It practically buried itself in Marek's cheek, who flailed and knocked it loose almost immediately. The paladin stumbled away, backing into a corner. From a barrel not too far away, Xan could hear one of the humans cheering trollish at him. He charged again, jabbing for Marek's weak spot once more. The blade scraped across his forehead, and by now Marek was bawling as he fled.

However, he suddenly remembered the famous paladin maneuver that had gotten him out of so many a jam. Casting a divine shield over himself, he pulled out his hearthstone with trembling fingers. Xan growled and tried to stab again anyway.

"Not over," Marek informed him through sobs. Within moments, he was whisked away by a green light. Xan looked back at the battlefield, where Argam was mopping up the few resisting night elves with the neck and headstock of a guitar. Eventually, even the neck broke off and he threw the headstock at the last resister, clocking him soundly on the forehead.

Argam bellowed a victorious moo, then fell unconscious on top of a still-living human Marine. Xan didn't feel very victorious. He rushed to the gallows, his movements mirrored by the blond human. Xan snarled at him, running faster.

_Wait, I'm a priest. I can help her, _a voice spoke in his mind. It must have been the 'Cygnus' that Meridia had talked about. Xan slowed, nodding to the blue-eyed man. They both arrived at the gallows at roughly the same time, and the priest bent down to examine one of the bodies. _I'm sorry. She's been trampled beyond recognition. There's no spell in the world that can bring her back._

Xan cleared his throat, tapping the priest on the back and pointing at a corpse next to him. "Wrong one, mon."

Cygnus straightened, adjusted the collar beneath his armor, and turned to Meridia's body so that his face was obscured from view. During the chaos, the shoddy noose had come undone and dumped her body out underneath the gallows – besides her neck being broken, she looked like she could be still alive.

The priest was muttering and making some strange hand gestures that Xan guessed were there simply to make him feel like something was being done. A moment later, there came a crunch from Meridia's neck.

"Joo no' supposed ta keel her again!" Xan growled, knocking Cygnus out of the way. As he did, Meridia jerked upward, wavering in a sitting position until she began to fall back again. Hastily, Xan grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back up.

" – the sweetest thing I could ever hear," she whispered, finishing the sentence that Marek so brutally cut short before.

"I told ya I would," Xan muttered, sweeping his hand over the devastation.

"Oh, my god…" Meridia gasped, leaning forward past Xan. "You did all this?"

Xan thought about this notion for a moment. "…ja. Dat was all me."

Meridia settled back against him. "Liar."

"Listen up, Xan," Melchiah's voice growled from behind them. "Right now, you are the least dislikable person I know. Since I'm totally incapable of showing real gratitude or respect, I'll simply try to remember your name from now on. How's that sound?"

"'Twas notin', mon." Xan jumped as Zuridan dropped a large brown sack on the ground next to him. The sack was squirming and making retching noises, so Xan moved himself and Meridia a bit farther away from it.

"They taste horrible," Zuridan commented, spitting out a piece of collarbone. "But it'll do."

"We have something very important that must be done in less than a week," Melchiah informed them all. "We need to take that sack and dump it into the ocean, preferably as close to the Maelstrom as possible."

"Huh?" Xan articulated.

"Don't ask why, it's too nasty," Zuridan answered.

"Come wit' us," Xan whispered to Meridia.

"What, after it's finally safe for me to leave this place and return to the Alliance?"

"…ja."

"Of course! I don't think I can ever forgive this half of my blood."

Tentatively, Xan picked Meridia up and set her on the edge of the gallows platform. While the others set about finding a wagon and figuring out what to do with Argam, Meridia turned to Cygnus.

"Will you join them, too?" She asked.

"No," Cygnus said immediately. "What you don't seem to realize is that just because Luna corrupted this town, it doesn't mean the whole Alliance is corrupt."

"But my – "

"I understand. You have much greater incentive to join them than I do."

"Then what are _you _going to do? I assume Marek's dead and gone."

"Gone, but not dead," Cygnus sighed. "There are a few Marines left alive. I will attempt to get us safely back to Stormwind, and from there you need not worry about me any longer."

"Well…thank you, then. If it weren't for you, I would have died up there," Meridia spoke, gesturing at the hanging noose.

"That goes without saying, doesn't it?"

Meridia giggled. "It does. I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't apologize too much; it loses value." At this, Cygnus began walking to the front gate. "Dillon! Hindrex! Come out, we have a long walk ahead of us."

The two marines crawled out of their barrels and ran to collect all the notes they had written on Xan'Jin's music, joining Cygnus at the gates. The three humans pulled wide the front gates, and as they started off down the road Hindrex flashed Xan a peace sign. Xan didn't know what it meant, so naturally he assumed the human was trying to flip him off with two fingers.

Now that Xan actually had some honor to be tarnished, he was feeling a bit protective of it. The human would pay. But first, the sack had to be disposed of…

**End**


	26. On the Road Again

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 26 – On the Road Again**

By Genoscythe

The man lay on his back, staring at the sky and looking for all the world like a corpse. Blood ran down the left side of his face from a deep gash in his cheek, and he reeked of arcane forest.

"Marek…?" Sir Hans Lightsword asked, leaning over the body. He knew his old friend was still alive because every now and then he would blink and whimper. "Are you okay? Say 'big breasts feel best' five times fast."

"Muuuuh…" Marek groaned. "My face…"

"Don't worry about it, they're just flesh wounds. That one on your cheek looks like it'll leave a scar, but – "

"WHAT?" The paladin suddenly burst into motion, cracking his forehead against Sir Lightsword's and causing them both to fall cursing onto the grass. "DAMN that troll!"

"Ugh…what troll?" Hans got to his feet. "Where have you been? I thought you were banished."

"I'm scarred…" Marek twitched on the lawn of Cathedral Square.

"Deep breaths, Marek. Calm down."

"I CAN'T CALM DOWN!" He bellowed. "I'M A MONSTER!"

"Fine, I'll get you inside the Cathedral. Let me check with Gadwyn and see if there's any – "

"No don't!" Marek grabbed Sir Lightsword's cape and kept him running immobile on the slick grass.

"Oh, what do you know," Hans remarked, pointing through the cathedral doors. "Somebody already saw you. Looks like he's going to find a room for you him…self?"

Marek had disappeared.

* * *

"This is impossible," Sir Ulrich Gadwyn growled, dropping the blank prayer book onto his nightstand and following the nervous priest out into the hallway. 

"I don't understand, sir," the lowly priest said.

"What don't you understand, acolyte?" Gadwyn asked impatiently.

"Why you said it's impossible after it's already happened."

Gadwyn stopped, grabbing the priest by the shoulder and forcing him to do likewise. "I will enlighten you then. It is impossible for Marek Belheim to be lying on our front lawn because we took his hearthstone and sent him on a suicide mission to Kalimdor."

"But he must have…"

"No, I confiscated it personally. It's sitting in my room, if you'd like to see it."

The priest gave him a sidelong look. "In your room, sir?"

"The last I saw of it, yes."

"Then where's _your _hearthstone?" The priest asked, immediately regretting it and wanting nothing more than to suck the words back out of the air. Implying that a member of the illustrious gang called the Silver Hand was irresponsible, no matter how accurate an assessment, was always punished with extreme prejudice. However, it seemed that this time, the paladin under question had bigger things to worry about.

"FFFFFFFFFFF-ather!" Gadwyn artfully turned the explosive swear into a sign of reverence as the Archbishop and his lovely nubile daughter passed through the hallway. "-uck," he muttered as soon as they were out of earshot.

"If you don't mind me saying, sir, we should find Sir Belheim before he escapes. Coming back to Stormwind, with the kind of charges he has garnered, he will not likely stay to face the hangman."

"Don't call him 'sir'," Gadwyn corrected under his breath as they emerged in the nave of the cathedral. A short walk through the overcompensating front doors, and Gadwyn was standing before a thoroughly soaked and terrified Marek Belheim framed by two guards.

"Morning watch had to fish him out of the canal and chase away one o' them giant sewer crocolisks," one of the guards explained. "It almost made off with his hand," he added with a satisfied chuckle. "You'll take it from here, sir?"

"Yes," Gadwyn snapped. "Give him to me and be gone." The guards snorted, pushing the shivering paladin forward and trudging away.

"O-okay…" Marek started in first, waving a dripping, trembling finger. "Let me j-just say this first. This has been, undeniably, the worst d-day of my life, so if you want to dump some new k-kind of banishment on me, just k-keep that in mind."

"You jumped into the canal."

"Y-yes."

"And a sewer beast did that to your face?"

Marek attempted to reply, but he soon broke down in tears.

"He was going on about some troll," Sir Hans Lightsword offered, standing behind Marek.

"So you _did _make it to Kalimdor," Gadwyn pursued. "With my hearthstone."

Marek nodded silently, wracked with sobs.

"I assume you at least managed to kill a few Horde?"

Marek shook his head, breaking into a fresh bout of tears.

"And the other Marines, they're all dead?"

Once again, Marek shook his head.

"God DAMN IT!" Sir Gadwyn boomed, stomping hisbooted foot on the pavement. "Sorry Padre," he offered after a few moments of disdainful silence from the Cathedral.

"I-I _did_ help the Sentinels of Astranaar destroy themselves…" Marek offered feebly, to stunned silence. "Oh…nevermind, that wasn't good."

"Marek Belheim…" Gadwyn growled. "You're telling me you failed to kill _everybody_ you were supposed to _except_ the Night Elves, who you _weren't _supposed to?"

"It sounds like that, but – "

"You may have very well just redeemed yourself."

"What? How?"

"Well, our alliance with the night elves is tenuous at best. Shaky, even. Nigh unexplainable. To be honest, I can't recall how or why such reclusive and solitary beings decided to join us in the first place. It's no big deal if a town or two of theirs is wiped off the face of Azeroth."

"Are you sure the king's okay with that?"

"I'm joking. You're going straight to hell."

"Wait, what about all that blackmail ammo I have on you?" Marek insisted as he was hoisted up by a pair of acolytes summoned by Gadwyn.

"I'll have you guillotined so fast you won't be able to say a word."

* * *

Melchiah swatted away Xan's curved blade for the last time. He signaled for the troll to desist, but Xan tried to get in a cheap shot by pretending he hadn't noticed. Dodging the extra blow and kicking a sizeable rock up into Xan's chin, Melchiah put a stop to their sparring match for good. 

"Okay, we're done for today," the Forsaken announced, plunging his sword into the softest earth the Barrens could offer. "When we start up again tomorrow, I'd like you to try not to totally suck at it again."

"Tanks, mon…" Xan grumbled, numbly falling back on the parched sand and rubbing his jaw. Twilight had recently fallen, casting a sort of beauty onto the Barrens enjoyed mostly by the blind and deaf. The landscape was still hideous, the sound of ravenous wild animals was still the ambience of choice, but it was the only time of day that wasn't unbearably hot or intolerably cold.

The group, in a wagon stolen from Astranaar, had traveled the forest of Ashenvale in two days and halfway across the Barrens in another. With four days left until Melchiah's mysterious retching baggage did something unspeakable, Xan felt he was in no rush at all.

"You still move like you're using a pansy-ass dagger," Melchiah instructed. "Cut that crap out right now. A sword is not just a long dagger. If you think of it like you're eating dinner, a knife is what you would use to spread butter or silence your stupid family members with."

Xan gave him an odd look that suggested he was losing faith in Melchiah's omnipotence.

"Well, that's what _I _used my knife for at the dinner table."

"Go on."

"A dagger is like a butter knife. A sword is the thing your dad used to kill the main course with."

"…dat's good?"

Viciously, Melchiah ripped his sword out of the sand and turned toward their camp. "Think about the meaning of the word _intelligence_, then come to me when you want to learn more about swordplay."

As soon as Melchiah was gone, Meridia was out of the underbrush and laying down beside Xan. Ever since the Druids of the Fang were slaughtered by Zuridan and Melchiah, the Barrens had started getting slightly less barren, and it began with the appearance of several ponds like the one bubbling before them.

"He means well," Meridia offered consolingly, digging her toes into the wet sand.

"Joo don' know wha' he said," Xan pointed out matter-of-factly.

"He _looked _like he meant well."

Xan told her what Melchiah had actually said.

"…oh. What did you do to _him_?"

"'parently he forgot I jus' saved him."

Meridia rolled over, coming into actual physical contact with Xan. He was more than thrilled, but his vocabulary didn't go much higher than 'thrilled' so we'll leave it at that for now. "I didn't forget."

"Feels good, positive reinforcement," Xan remarked, laying back himself and rubbing his bruised chin. "I don' be used to it."

"Well, don't get your hopes up," Meridia countered. "I haven't seen you do anything as heroic as what you did three days ago."

"Hey babe, I caught us dinner las' night."

Meridia propped herself up on an elbow incredulously. "You think catching dinner is heroic?"

"It be in da right direction."

"So…you _are _talking about that zhevra?"

"Ja."

"The one that was already dead and half-rotten?"

Xan suddenly looked away. "…ja."

"The one that Argam ate before anyone even had a chance to refuse it."

"I _get_ it, babe. Message heard." Meridia simply smiled and moved a little closer. A rhythmic pounding was attempting to trip Xan's mental alarms, but the steady impacts were unable to penetrate the euphoric haze around his brain.

"Relax, I'm just kidding!" Meridia soothed,playfully pushing them apart. Both rolled onto their backs just as something furry eclipsed the moon and rocketed into the pond. Meridia scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping into the thorny underbrush if not for her elvish sense of balance. Xan remained motionless, even as the miniature tsunami thundered down on him.

"Dat be Argam, babe," Xan assured Meridia. Moments later, the gigantic tauren reared out from the now waist-deep pond and turned to face Xan.

"Xan, I'm out of weapons. Can I use her until we find another quirky blunt object?"

"Uh-uh. We need her."

"Why?"

"She knows first aid."

"Oh. That's a good reason."

Meridia sighed, stretching out on the sand once more. "Now I know how you felt back in Astranaar."

"Wanna get a translation?" Xan asked in trollish. Argam slapped his dripping paws over his ears, for fear that Xan was speaking in tongues and some demon was trying to tell him, yet again, to kill everyone.

"What did your tauren friend just say?" Meridia asked. Argam screeched, falling backward and floundering in the remains of the pond.

"I told you last night, I don't _want_ to bathe in the blood of my allies!" The tauren bellowed at nobody in particular.

"He said he wants ta give joo a big hug," Xan told her with a worried grimace.

"Is _that _what all the screaming and flopping around is for?"

"Ja. He be happy ta see joo. Give him a hug."

"I'd rather that he didn't snap my neck."

"Can' have da best o' both worlds, babe."

"I'm going back to the camp," she announced, getting up and cautiously slinking away from Argam toward the pitiful fire they had coaxed into existence.

"Now look wha'choo done, mon," Xan scolded.

"Xan, you're not possessed anymore!"

"…when _was _I?"

"A few minutes ago, when you were speaking that demonic language."

"Joo mean trollish?"

"Oh," Argam pondered. "They have a name for it now?"

"_I'm_ a friggin' troll! Trolls talk trollish!" Xan was uncomfortable with stating something so obvious, even if it was the only way to get Argam to put two and two together.

"You're saying…" Argam began, counting on his fingers until he realized that counting wasn't actually involved with what he was trying to figure out. "I don't know what you're saying."

"Figures."

* * *

The next day, Xan and company continued the grueling trek across the Barrens. Stopping the taint and bringing life back to the wasteland did nothing to the heat, which even the chill of Melchiah's presence couldn't fight back. Xan refused to believe that the Barrens was once a forest like Ashenvale, and instead thought it was a story made up by the Horde to make themselves feel better about owning the worst bits of land on Kalimdor. By that rationale, was Durotar a tropical paradise once, and did Mulgore ever have a stable predator/prey ratio? Like anything involving the natural order of Azeroth, Xan doubted it. 

The party dreaded going on a zeppelin again (even Melchiah, but only because he was certain it would explode and all the setbacks were driving him mad). Meridia, of course, was not – but nobody besides Xan considered her a real member of the 'party'. Argam had told Zuridan to paint NO GIRLS ALLOWED on the side of their wagon, but Xan rubbed it off before it could dry.

None of this – it turned out – mattered. There were still no zeppelins available. What the goblins didn't want to tell them was that there _had _been a new one made, but it caught on an experimental weathervane and detonated half of Booty Bay.

There was no way around it this time. The group had to take a boat, and for wont of being vindictive, Melchiah made everyone come with him.

But before that…

"Joo outta ya mind, mon," Xan casually pointed out, basking in the shade of the Drag.

"No, I'm just too damn determined for my own good," Zuridan explained in a growl, pacing their resting spot. Xan had offered up Argam to show Meridia around the Horde capital city, hoping that with her hood off she would look enough like a troll that nobody would cause trouble. He should have realized that sending her with Argam was trouble in itself.

"So joo know what'cha did wrong before?" Xan asked the tall orc. Zuridan shook his head.

"I'm just gonna hope I don't do it again."

"If it don' work out, den joo got tree demons ta deal wit'."

"I _know_, but if this works, then I can…"

"What, seduce the other ones and tell 'em to leave you alone?" Melchiah quipped, leaning against a crate with his arms safely crossed. Xan would have sent Melchiah out with Meridia – hell, he would have gone himself – but he didn't trust the Forsaken around her and they were both needed for moral support anyway.

Zuridan was stupidly going to try and bind a succubus.

"I thought, maybe it can communicate with the other two. You know, tell 'em to back off and whatnot."

"Just like dat?" Xan scoffed doubtfully.

"It could work," Melchiah growled (not to say there was undue malice in his voice, but Melchiah couldn't speak softly in much the same way a mouse can't warble). All eyes turned to him. "But it probably won't." He added sharply, and everybody relaxed.

"Well, wish me luck," Zuridan gulped, trembling like his skeletal structure was experiencing a magnitude 5 earthquake.

"Why?" Both Xan and Melchiah justifiably asked.

**End**

AN: Not much to report, mostly because I'm not sure which direction to go in now. I could follow the game more closely and send them off to some place like Desolace (but not for long, because everyone hates Desolace) or I could follow the story that's evolving in my head and take the group to Stranglethorn. I could go either way. Your thoughts?


	27. Oh Pretty Woman

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 27 – Oh Pretty Woman**

By Genoscythe

"And this – this…" Argam stumbled, bringing Meridia forcibly toward one of Orgrimmar's many giant torches. "This is _fire_." Meridia shook her head, mouthing out the words 'I can't understand you' without realizing that she was mouthing them in her own language. When communications break down, the brain tries everything it can to be understood, no matter how obviously futile. It has something to do with sentient creatures and their dire need to be sociable, successfully or not (and this does not always imply a language barrier).

"I'm gonna go find a guitar shop. Tell me if you see one." Argam, however, didn't know the first thing about futility.

Dragged along by the wrist, Meridia cast about for an interpreter. _Damn it, I should have spent some of those centuries learning Orcish…_she realized a bit belatedly. She had had all her life to learn anything – nay, everything. And now that life was finally picking up momentum, she knew what she had forgotten. Orcish. One of the only damn languages she hadn't bothered with.

"Hey!" She cried in trollish, grabbing the hem of a tall robe and pulling its owner down with her. Argam barely slowed with two people now in tow. The troll, too shocked to look back at what was dragging him away, latched onto a rock. Argam pulled that, too.

"What da hell, mon?" The mage squawked. Argam was busy humming the Horde national anthem backwards.

"Hey, translate for me," Meridia asked, and only now did the troll crane his neck backward.

"Joo no…"

"It doesn't matter what I look like, tell this furry tank to let go of me!"

"Joo first, babe!"

"I'll let go when _he_ does," Meridia bargained. The troll sighed, now looking up at Argam. Recognition split warmly across his face, suggesting to Meridia that he didn't know Argam very well.

"'ey Fishmon! Slow down?" Amazingly, the lumbering tauren slowed down.

"Xan, what are you doing – " He stopped short as he took a look at the mage. "You're not Xan," he deduced.

"It's Zoso, mon! I though'choo was a goner when da zep went boom."

"Excuse me," Meridia interrupted, still dangling limply by her wrist. "Translation? Tell him to let go."

"Oh yeah, we fell into that red building and this huge half-naked human chased us around with an axe."

"…joo fought _Herod_ an' lived?"

"Well, we ran away from him and lived..."

"Excuse me!" Meridia barked. "If you don't do something soon, I'm afraid I'm gonna lose this hand!"

"Okay, okay! Letta go, mon." Zoso's plea fell on deaf ears, or at least indifferent ones. Argam had accidentally wandered in front of a guitar shop. The instrument hanging above the entrance was more sharp bludgeon than guitar, but considering it was Horde-made and considering what Argam intended to use it for, it was perfect.

"Ask him if we have the kind of money to be spending on guitars," Meridia suggested to Zoso, worming free of Argam's slackening grip.

Zoso asked him. In reply, Argam ripped out the guitar hanging above the entrance. "…does it work?" The troll queried.

Argam plucked a string, purring at the sound it created. Meridia and Zoso exchanged glances. Tauren vocal cords, Argam's in particular, didn't sound like they were made for purring.

"It needs to be reinforced," Argam announced to nobody but perhaps the angry shop owner who was struggling around the front counter inside. "As much as I hate the idea, we'll need to find an engineer."

"Cool mon, have fu – " A meaty fist shot out, scooping up both Meridia and Zoso, hoisting them over his shoulder. "What da…"

"I'll need you to go inside and tell them what I want," Argam instructed Zoso, walking away and ignoring the shopkeeper latched onto his leg.

"Why?"

Argam turned a baleful glare on the troll slung over his shoulder. "I hate goblins."

Arriving now at the engineering shop, Argam dropped his cargo and raised his foot so the guitar maker could retrieve his hand. Deciding it wasn't worth another crushed hand, the shopkeeper let go and made a run for the Valley of Strength.

"Okay, Fishmon. Joo be takin' dis a bit too far. What da hell joo wanna reinforce a guitar for, anyway?"

Argam shrugged. "It was a nice weapon, I just want one that won't break." Zoso looked to Meridia.

"The short story is that he used a guitar to beat up a bunch of night elves, and now he seems fascinated by them."

"Dis guy crazy or sometin'?"

"_AHEM_!" Argam still hadn't gotten the hang of clearing his throat properly, and the grating noise reverberated off the walls of the Valley of Honor. "This guitar isn't going to fortify itself."

"I'm going!" Zoso muttered, grabbing the instrument. "But joo owe me fo' dis. I freeze ya fish, I fix up ya guitar, someday joo betta plan on payin' me back." Argam had lost interest again, and was instead attempting to fish in the nearby pond with his tail.

Meridia felt horribly exposed. Zoso was inside the shop, Argam was several feet away and bathing in ignorant bliss. If anyone were to even suspect that she was part night elf, there would be nobody to back her up. Hurriedly, she ran into the engineering shop.

_Tried _to run into the engineering shop. Almost through the doorway, a meaty hand clamped on her shoulder and lifted her off her feet. A harsh Orcish command barked into her ear, and Meridia was dragged back to the valley outside. She cried for Zoso, but one of the engineers was attempting to sell him a stolen mind control cap by showing him its effects firsthand.

Meridia was thrown to the ground and surrounded by orcs in guard armor. "Argam!" She called, and the tauren looked up from the albacore attached to his tail. He watched as she was knocked out and hoisted onto one of the guards' shoulders, gently tossing the albacore back in the water while they carried her away to parts unknown.

Where was that place they took bad people? He didn't think Meridia was a particularly bad person (although she _had _been distracting Xan from spending time with him), but from behind she looked an awful lot like a night elf. Night elves, Argam knew, were particularly bad people.

A jail! Guards take bad people to jail. The guards took _him _to a jail once, and it was Zuridan that had gotten him out. The orc had also broken Melchiah out of jail for being cursed. If Argam ever hoped to get Meridia back, he would at least have to start with Zuridan.

* * *

"It has been quite a while, Zuridan…" the warlock trainer observed pointedly, sizing his former pupil up and down. "You don't look well." 

"Three weeks of starving kinda did that to me," Zuridan grunted. "Plus, I'm not far from terrified right now."

"Why is that?" The trainer queried, leading Zuridan out of the alcove and into the Cleft of Shadows proper. Melchiah and Xan were left inside the warlock enclave to look at all the grotesque pictures drawn in blood on human skin hung from the ceiling.

"I'm ready for my succubus," Zuridan announced.

"_What_? After all your disastrous attempts to – "

"Yeah, I _know_," the thin orc groaned. "But if I do it right, this could be my way out."

"And how did logic bring you to this conclusion?" The trainer probed.

"I…" Zuridan faltered. The Master wasn't the kind of orc you just blew off. "I understand my mistakes from before, and with a minion properly under control, I could, y'know, even the playing field. Demon versus demon."

The Master fixed him with a level stare. "You are positive you can complete the binding rites this time?"

"Totally. I mean, yes."

"Then I see no problem. I will obtain the proper texts. Begin drawing the summoning circle."

"With pig's blood, chalk, dye, incense or candles?"

The Master paused in contemplation. "Why not all five?"

Zuridan shrugged. "You're the Master."

"I am, thank you." The warlock trainer gave Xan and Melchiah stern looks, and Xan immediately shut the book they were marveling at. Incidentally, it was the book on summoning succubi that the Master needed. It was no wonder the two ignorant soldiers had gravitated to it, either. The book was almost less occult runes than it was pornographic images.

Half an hour later, the needlessly complicated ritual was almost complete. The pig's blood had turned a deep brown from the dye, crusting around the chalk sprinkled over it. It would pain the Master to remove all the incense and candles from the drying substances later, but such was the life of an unholy teacher.

"…and now, I invoke thee, o Temptress of the Nether, o Fornicator of Souls, o Demon of Many Positions, o Dominatrix of Consciousness, to bind unto me in the name of – "

"Zuridan, I need your help!" Argam bellowed, tripping and rolling down the entrance to the Cleft of Shadows.

" – Argam!" Zuridan snapped, shutting the book in a cloud of very mystical dust. He turned away from the summoning circle and glared at the tauren. "I'm in the middle of something _very _important!"

"Actually, you just finished it," the Master informed him, glancing hastily at the ethereal purple mist bubbling up from the summoning circle. Zuridan was too pissed off to acknowledge him.

"What do you need _me _for, anyway?"

"Meridia, she got…" Argam rammed his head against a bone cropping out of the ground in a desperate attempt to jog his memory. "…jailed. She got jailed."

"Let me guess. You want me to find the Penitentiary, which only _I _seem to know about, and convince my ork friends there to let her go?"

"Yeah."

"Can't somebody else do it? Both you and Melchiah should know where it is."

"I'll ask Melchiah," Argam decided, running off to find the Forsaken. With a sigh, Zuridan turned around and opened the book once more. He found himself staring into a pair of beautiful, shapely…eyes.

"Oh, hello." Zuridan blinked, instinct telling him to take a step back but emotion telling him not to.

"Her name is Sek'Shi," the Master announced from behind the radiating demon. "Despite your gross error, she appears to be properly bound."

"That's…wonderful…" Zuridan murmured. Sek'Shi bobbed and giggled. He felt himself doing the same.

"Don't worry about it, I'll clean up all the blood and dye and melted candles."

"Thanks." At the moment, Zuridan wouldn't have picked up sarcasm if it went along the lines of 'those humans are such proud, honorable creatures'. Sek'Shi took a hooved step closer. Zuridan dimly looked about, noting that they were both completely alone. It _felt _like they were the only two beings alive anywhere.

With a smile, Sek'Shi cracked her whip playfully. Zuridan found himself standing at attention, but his attention was no longer standing on her beautiful shapely eyes.

He was vaguely aware of a trio of shapes blurring past his vision. They stopped for a moment, apparently looking at him. This only lasted for a split second, as the blue shape in front took off again and the others followed him. This did not matter. All that mattered was Sek'Shi, who very shortly jumped up and began straddling him. The surprise, combined with the dull haze coming over him, was enough to knock him to the ground – but in a good way.

A little, tiny, insignificant part of his brain was asking _Are succubi really supposed to seduce their own masters?_ Zuridan told his brain to take a good look at those gazungas and say it again. His brain replied with _Come back later_.

Vaguely, Zuridan was aware of something coiling around his neck. It felt a little like a whip. Maybe she's just into that kind of thing, he thought. Then, suddenly, she jerked on the whip and it tightened around his neck like a boa constrictor on PCP. The world plopped back into focus, and he noted with clarity that Sek'Shi was snarling and there were several panicked citizens around them.

Finally, a shadow bolt cracked against the succubus's back, and she tumbled over Zuridan. A steady concentration of similar energy blasts from the warlock enclave reduced the demon to a rouge-tinted vapor.

"It was the end, wasn't it?" Zuridan choked out as the Master wearily hobbled up to him. "When I accidentally said Argam instead of Fel Mistress Pamallah."

"Yes. The rest was quite good, though."

"Thanks…" Zuridan groaned, collapsing completely on the black dust of the Cleft. What was that about a jail?

* * *

"Joo tink dey'll let us in witout Z?" Xan asked as Melchiah led the group up the winding path. 

The Forsaken flourished his sword. "Yeah, I think so." Arriving at the nondescript cave and traversing the darkened stairs, they found themselves at something of a reception slab. It in no way resembled a desk.

"Oi! Why youz lookin' familiar, eh?" What Zuridan called an 'ork' asked Argam.

"I don't know why. I've only been here twice before."

"Dat's more'n most!" The receptionist cackled. "What be your bizness today, boyz?"

"We be here for a girl," Xan growled.

"Da elfie bint?"

"Not an elf," Melchiah corrected. He accentuated this point by placing his sword underneath the ork's chin.

"'ey, 'ey, _'ey_! She's down da hall, Gimpy's workin' 'er over." Down the empty, desolate hallway came the sound of hydraulic pistons working and vents puffing steam. Xan took off, pushing the ork aside with melodramatic ferocity. They came to a hunched form blocking the passageway, and Argam authoritatively marched forth. He had seen Gimpy enough times to know what a wimp he was.

"Excuse me Gimpy, we're here to rescue that night elf you have imprisoned," the tauren announced. Gimpy retracted his arm from the cell and found that it was not an arm, but a conglomeration of knives and sharp bits welded like claws to a robotic hand. His other arm, also robotic, was stumpy and rather looked like a cannon.

"Oh no youz don't!" Gimpy bellowed, raising his cannon arm and sweeping it from one Horde soldier to another. "I'z outta appendages, guv. Try anyfin, an' I'z gonna make sure youz will be too."

"Out of appendages, huh?" Melchiah asked conversationally, stepping ahead of the terrified Argam and Xan. "What about your other leg, then?"

Gimpy's narrowed eyes widened. "Youz ain't gettin' close enough for dat!"

"Oh yeah?" Melchiah took a step forward, and Gimpy's optics widened even more. During his brief incarceration, Melchiah had reversed the role of torturer and mentally flayed Gimpy alive. The scars, as well as the nightmares, still lingered.

"I-I'z got a big shoota an' a power klaw! I ain't afraid ta use 'em!"

"I find that very, very unlike – " One moment, Melchiah's head was talking. The next, it was lying in bits on the damp floor. As his spirit yanked itself free, he whispered _Don't panic, this won't be nearly as bad as last time. I'll meet you at the graveyard later, okay? Damn, I really didn't think he'd do it…_

It was too late. Xan and Argam were panicking. The wired ork now pointed the cannon at them.

"Youz best be movin' on, see? Or betta yet, get inna cell." Xan and Argam looked at each other, not sure if he was joking or not. "Now!" Gimpy roared, waving the cannon in the air and firing into the ceiling. It was unlike any gun Xan had ever seen before. It shot huge bullets, and it shot _fast_. "WAAAAAAAAGH!" he bellowed, and the war cry reverberated down the prison hallway, masking the slow, nearby footsteps.

"Hello, Gimpy," said Zuridan. Gimpy's roar got lodged in his throat and he stumbled backward, revealing his one fleshy leg.

"No…no…" Gimpy articulated, underbite hanging slack and tortured. "I don't wanna go, mummy. Don't let 'im take me leg!" The ork scrabbled along the ground, finding that scrabbling was hard to do without any digits worth mentioning.

"Let the girl go."

"But she'z _elfie_!"

"And _you're_ about to lose your last real limb. What's it gonna be, the elf or the leg?"

"Whatz got into youz, Gimpy?" The ork asked himself, pulling himself up to standing height. "Youz an ORK! Orkz was made for _fightin_' – and _winnin_'!"

Zuridan cut out all this nonsense by grabbing an axe from a pile of discarded prisoners' weapons and swinging it through Gimpy's leg. He howled, fell over, and as an afterthought tossed Zuridan the keys.

The orc was about to insert them in the door, but Xan grabbed them out of his hand and did it himself. When prompted for an explanation, Xan merely said "What? Joo don' even _like_ 'er."

Meridia was pale enough to be mistaken for Luna. She had a few superficial cuts – most likely from Gimpy's 'power klaw' – and a large bruise on her head, but most of the damage seemed internal. Xan had to lead her out of the cell by hand while Zuridan picked what he believed to be her weapons from the discard pile.

On the way out, they were challenged by Dakka.

"You boyz are bigga den I thought," he chuckled. "Takin' on Gimpy wit all his new upgrades. The Dok hopped 'im up on fightin' juice, too."

"Fightin' juice?" Zuridan asked.

"'e don't feel a thing. Youz coulda chopped his last leg off, an' he'd a still be able to chase after youz." The Horde soldiers exchanged glances. A steady _whomp _was getting closer from behind them. Gimpy, hopping on his old mechanical leg, swung his big shoota madly, firing off a burst of slugs into the air above their heads.

"Sometime I'd like to know where the hell you two came from," Zuridan told Dakka, ducking from a close shot. "But not now. Besides, I have a feeling I'll be back again."

Dakka eyed the strange gang warily as they ran up the stairs and out into daylight. Gimpy came up beside him, huffing and leaning against the wall.

"Oi. I guess youz wantin' me to get da Dok?"

"Aye," Gimpy sniffed. "I miss da meks. Dey could fix up a propa shoota arm, dey could."

"We'z gotz da beacon runnin' all da time, if anyone's listnin' we can get da hell outta here an' back to a good mek shop."

"I don't tink dere's any more boyz around dis planet…" Gimpy whined, being practically carried by Dakka down a stairway on the right. "Supposin' we lost? Supposin' we'z da last orks around. What den?"

Dakka cooked up a smile that was more maniacal than reassuring. "We'z still got lotz o' fightin' juice."

* * *

That night, the group made camp outside the Horde capital to save money on lodgings and to make sure Melchiah didn't accidentally disintegrate any buildings. They were all unusually quiet and unusually avoiding looking at Meridia. Xan could tell already that this was one of those days that nobody would ever think to bring up in a casual conversation starting with the words 'remember that time when…' 

In a situation such as this, your typical group of adventurers would be feeling some strife about Meridia's involvement in the day's events. Things like "She's a liability" or "It's too dangerous with her around" or "We'll just end up rescuing her all the time" would be said, and Xan would probably end it by sulking off and monologuing. It would eventually lead to a big, dramatic apology, and their friendship would be all the stronger for it.

However, Xan and company were not a typical group of adventurers. They all realized that, if it hadn't been Meridia, then someone else would have been taken away to the Orgrimmar Penitentiary (odds were on Xan, since he had never been). Also, she wasn't technically involved in the addition to Zuridan's Things that Want to Kill Me list, and that was by far the worst news of the day.

Plus, you really can't pick fights when you're at rock bottom.

**End**

AN: It is, quite unanimously, Stranglethorn Vale. I really could have gone either way, I would have only spent about a paragraph on Desolace and then moved on to a zone that's more their 'level' (I'd say about twenty-five by now, singlehandedly annihilating Astranaar has to count for quite a bit) for the WoW purists. As it stands, going to Stranglethorn is going to skip quite a bit - although it's been awhile since I was in that tender level range, so I don't remember too well. However, Stranglethorn is more logical and I don't think anyone really cares about staying true to the online game anymore anyway. Anyhow, I'll try to update soon. Enjoy!


	28. Vae Victis

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 28 – Vae Victis**

By Genoscythe

AN: Your reviews give me sustenance. Thanks for that. Also, the damn line-maker button is being finicky, so I apologize for the lack of proper scene changes in this chapter.

By the way, there's quite a bit of Legacy of Kain references here. See if you can spot them all!

In a valiant show of irony, it was custom in Stormwind to hold the executions of holy men on the lawn outside the Cathedral of Light. Officially, it was because holy men were allowed a degree of honor and decency in death.

It was more widely believed that God demanded front row seats. In this case, God probably would have demanded it on tape too if anyone had been listening. This wasn't just an execution for some priest who didn't know how to keep the altar boys quiet – this was Marek Belheim, one of the human race's least tactful sinners. For this, he was undoubtedly going to hell, and Sir Ulrich Gadwyn wanted to see him there personally.

The paladin was already locked into the lunette, and most of the spectacle had already been taken care of. People sat, some with buttered corn on a stick, some with diced potatoes topped with lard, all with a hungry anticipation for the main event. The Archbishop had already given his speech, and so had the rest of the clergy. It was all fire and brimstone, too. Great stuff for a guillotining.

However, before the executioner could drop the blade, Sir Gadwyn walked across the platform, brandishing a small stone etched with green.

"I've been thinking for some time now…" Gadwyn began, tossing the hearthstone up and down. "I just _have _to say it. There is no way you're getting out of this one. See this? This is the hearthstone you pilfered before the execution. I saw it in your hand during that long-winded old bag's speech." He added the last bit almost silently. "It's mine, now. I wonder what I'll do with two hearthstones? No, make that three. I still have your original."

"What's your point?" Marek asked, yawning.

"W-what? Aren't you terrified? Aren't I intimidating you at all?"

"Naw. Let's just do this thing. Get out of the way so the man can let go of the choppy part."

Gadwyn lowered his arm, speechless. He never expected Marek, of all people, to go gracefully to his death.

"Wait, wait, lemme just tell you one thing," Marek started as Gadwyn began to return to the side of the platform. "Come closer." Gadwyn leaned in. "You know why I'm so happy about this?"

When Gadwyn realized this wasn't a rhetorical question, he shook his head.

"Angela said I was better."

The older paladin straightened, coloring and glancing at the Archbishop's daughter on the other side of the platform. Hotly, he stormed back to his side and watched eagerly for the executioner to release the blade. In the excitement, he must have pocketed the hearthstone, for he no longer felt its magically charged surface against his fingers.

After a veritable eternity, the blade swung down. As expected, it was stopped short by a glowing aura around Marek. Gadwyn knew he would prolong his life for the extra ten seconds a Divine Shield allowed, but it was a waste of mana since he couldn't manage anything else.

Paladin executions were tricky like that. Most of the time, there was nothing to worry about since most spells worth mentioning take time and concentration to cast. Mages, warlocks and priests were of no consequence. Paladins, however, had one of the most useful, easy to use spell in the whole damn book. It used to save them from hangings, when the ropes snapped in trying to tighten around a Divine Shield.

That is, until the guillotine was invented. Now all the paladin's trademark spell did was drag out their already meaningless existence. Unless of course said paladin was like Marek Belheim (Read: in possession of a hearthstone).

"Oh no…" Sir Gadwyn's vocal cords managed even as his jaw fell slack. Marek had grabbed the hearthstone from right out of his hands, and now rippled with green energy. His own hands! Not a minute before the blade dropped! Damn etiquette, damn futility, Gadwyn felt himself compelled to do _something. _So, he did the only thing a mature adult could do in a situation in which he'd been totally and completely shafted.

He ran up to the guillotine, screaming and slamming his fists against the impenetrable wall of holiness. Marek waved goodbye, and the hearthstone whisked him away just as the shield disappeared and the blade snicked thin air. The crowd gasped, and the Archbishop fainted. Gadwyn beat his hands against the bascule in righteous fury.

However, a thought plodded casually into his brain and he slowed the beating. All hearthstones owned by the Silver Hand returned the owner to one place, and one place only. That place was called the Cathedral of Light, and it was standing a mere ten feet to their right. Marek looked about dazedly on the lawn, wondering why he was still roughly in the same spot sans guillotine.

Their eyes did not meet at exactly the same time, but for the sake of dramatic reading let's say they did. Marek jumped, startled, and Gadwyn shouted "Guards! After him!" The City Patrol, as well as several paladins and a handful of priests tumbled off or around the execution platform and ran across the lawn to a quickly-recovering Marek Belheim.

The former paladin dashed off across a bridge and into the main streets, the guards and clergymen following in hot pursuit. The chase zigzagged through the meager stone buildings, and at several points Marek actually doubled back and ran into his pursuers. For some reason, Gadwyn thought the scene would have been funnier if it were sped up and accompanied by saxophones. Why he thought the display should be funny at all was unexplainable in itself – he should have been furious.

He _would _have been furious, if he didn't believe Marek's resistance was just another Divine Shield at the guillotine. He was only one man in a city of dozens – and most of those dozens were guards. However, Gadwyn once again failed to take into account two things: First, that Marek was a paladin, and second, that Marek was a paladin with conviction.

They were cutting it close, perhaps too much so. Melchiah hadn't counted on the detour to Orgrimmar to last them an entire day, and hadn't prepared for the continued ineptness of goblin engineering in any case. He also didn't anticipate having to wait for Argam to run back to Orgrimmar halfway through Durotar in order to get his guitar back, but at least this didn't come as a surprise. They were currently on a ship bound for Booty Bay, but Melchiah expected Luna to tear out of the burlap sack at any moment. The retching had almost completely subsided, and now only a sickly bubbling could be heard inside the bag.

_At least elves_ _don't smell bad even when they're wearing their guts on the outside…_he mused, eyeing the bag warily. Zuridan turned his attention back to Xan and Meridia, who were speaking in hushed tones against the railing.

"As soon as we hit the beach, they'll be on each other like flies on shit," Melchiah observed tactfully.

"Is that the only kind of analogy you can make?" Zuridan asked wistfully.

"I have an analogy," Argam interrupted. "Two shamans walk into a bar with burning alpacas under their arms – "

"That's not an analogy," Zuridan educated him. "That's a horrible joke."

"Oh, come on. I've never been able to tell the entire thing…" Argam muttered sullenly, trudging off to any part of the ship that wasn't tainted by goblin.

Zuridan and Melchiah watched on in silence. Nothing of consequence appeared to be happening. It was amazing how Xan'Jin's vaunted promiscuity could wither in the face of honest love. Not true love, Melchiah clarified for only himself, but at least honest. The kind of lust that targeted the thing up top as well as the thing below. It was the best most people could get.

"Which do you reckon is the fly, and which is the shit?" Zuridan finally asked.

"That's not what it means, but since you're asking…I think it's obvious."

"The elf's a pretty fly, at least."

"Yep."

"A well-endowed fly."

"Uh-huh."

"A strong, healthy shade of green."

"Yeah." Gears in Melchiah's brain that had decayed long before his physical body did were now scrambling into motion. Synapses that had fought to survive the undeath process and won the favor of some higher power through sheer determination began tingling once again. Finally, with mental power that could shake mountains, Melchiah got a lock on what he wanted to say. "Wait, what?"

"Huh?"

"What was that last thing you said?"

"She's well-endowed. Busty. Ample. Full-figured."

"After that."

"Comely. I didn't say anything."

"That's it, you said she was _green_."

"Buxom…I did?" Zuridan took another look at her, blinked, and looked away. "What…I could swear, for a second…"

"Spit it out, it couldn't have been _that_ dramatic."

"For a split second, that voluptuous figure over there turned green and pigtailed."

Melchiah grunted in surprise. "Why would she do that?"

"I don't know! She looked like…"

"Stop stopping, damn it!"

"Sorry. She looked like my sister."

Melchiah took a step away. Warily, he sidled over to Xan and made one of the most deadly mental slips of his life. He reached out to tap Xan on the shoulder, but Meridia's sword was up in an instant to block the incoming claw. Upon touching the fluid iron, Melchiah found himself and retracted the hand like lightning.

Meridia turned the sword on him, but by then the front half had rusted and fallen off. Only now did Xan turn around from whatever blissful reverie that had kept him from noticing his near-undeath experience.

"He tried to touch you!" Meridia hissed to Xan.

Xan raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?" He turned to Melchiah and repeated that in orcish.

"Slipped my mind, the curse did…" Melchiah shrugged. If he had had any reason to be worried about a sword pointed at his neck, then it was no longer a concern as there was no sword left.

"Holy shit," Xan muttered, glancing at Meridia. "Accident, babe."

"Are you sure?"

"Chill. I tolja, we ain' so bad once joo get past da faces."

"But he's…nevermind." Meridia unconsciously tried to sheath the bits of rust flakes in her hand, and subsequently realized that her sword no longer existed. She had been so zealous in trying to protect Xan that she forgot the Forsaken's curse would affect her blade.

"He be fine. I'ma go talk to 'im now, but I'll be back." He affectionately wrapped an arm around her shoulder, which she assumed was supposed to be some sort of calming gesture. It didn't help, but she sighed like it did.

"You, ah, told her about the curse?" Melchiah asked as soon as they were away from the railing.

"Ja. She been on edge eva since da stop in Orgrimmar. She ain'…adjustin' well."

"Well, I have a feeling you two'll love Stranglethorn. Anyway. Just wanted to warn you that Zuridan's been fantasizing about his sister."

"Dat's it?" Xan gave him an incredulous look.

"I didn't think it would turn into a whole damn production!" Melchiah bit off in reply.

"…_his _sister? You sure?"

"That's what he said."

"He hates his sister. _I _hate his sister. Far as I know, everybody hates his sister."

"Zuridan's got something else up his sleeve, besides the whole cannibalism and homicidal minions thing. I have a feeling he's not telling us because he doesn't know about it himself."

Xan glanced at Zuridan. He was absent-mindedly chewing on Gimpy's leg. "I don' care ta find out yet."

"Me neither." They parted ways, Xan back to Meridia and Melchiah back to Zuridan and the bag. There was a strange quality about it, and almost too late Melchiah realized that it wasn't retching anymore. It was, in fact, beginning to expand. As they watched, a claw shot through the side of the bag and tore it away. The bag never touched the deck, as it disintegrated in mid-flight.

Standing amidst a pile of fluid and elf organs, an emaciated creature hunched viciously. It hardly looked like Luna anymore. Her skin had faded to a light blue, and it clung to her sharpened bones doggedly. Of her abdomen, there was nothing left but her spine. A thin layer of skin stretched around her ribcage, and it was apparent that her clothes did not bind to her soul as Melchiah's armor did. However, she seemed to have become asexual during the transformation.

"What the…hell did you do to me?" Luna growled through half a jaw.

"I gave you a taste of my medicine," Melchiah answered, kicking off and grabbing her by the throa – er, neck region. Reversing direction, he threw her off the port side and over Meridia's head.

The half-elf screamed, and Melchiah allowed a grin. He hadn't been trying to scare her on purpose before, but if she was going to be a bitch about it…

Luna splashed into the water head first. The current from the Maelstrom was as strong as it could be without sucking the boat in, so Melchiah had to hope for the best. He thought about what kind of damage she would do if she ever swam back to Orgrimmar. It wouldn't be pretty, but such things hardly ever were.

The wraith-like creature struggled against the current, but was eventually pulled out and dragged under. Melchiah planted a foot victoriously on the railing.

"Woe to the conquered," he muttered to the ocean, contemplating adding a "Bitch" on the end but deciding that it was too tacky. He was soon surrounded by Zuridan, Meridia and Xan. Argam was nowhere to be found, and that worried him.

"So we're done, huh?" Zuridan remarked. "We can go back to Kalimdor. And not Stranglethorn."

"Why not Stranglethorn?" Xan asked.

"Because it's a very exotic, relaxing tropical death hole. Plus, this boat docks in Booty Bay."

It dawned on Xan. "We may not even make it off da ship."

"Well, it's too late to start bitching now," Melchiah growled. "Since you did your duty to the Horde in Ashenvale, it's time to do your duty to me. I need some or all of you to help me get to Duskwood without being swamped by the Alliance."

"Don' sound too hard."

"That's because you've never been to Stranglethorn before," Zuridan clipped.

"An' joo have?"

"Yeah, with…someone…" The orc looked as if he had just received a nasty shock. "I can't remember who, though."

"Okay, great. Why joo wanna go to Duskwood, Mel?"

"I think Araj might be there."

"Why would he be there, of all places?"

"Liches like dark forests. I don't know. I'm reaching with this one, but I can feel his presence…you know?"

"No, but den I neva been cursed by a zombie shaman," Xan remarked, shrugging helplessly.

"I'll go with you," Zuridan volunteered. "If we make it through Booty Bay."

"Fantastic. I would have just taken you anyway, since I don't trust the other two to watch my back."

"Three," Xan interrupted, jerking a finger at a very confused and distraught Meridia.

"What? Oh, I guess so. You and Argam – "

"An' Meridia…"

" – should see if Grom'Gol has any quests for you. It's that, or stand around and get eaten by…whatever tries to eat you in Stranglethorn Vale."

"Everything," Zuridan clarified grimly.

"Hey, where _is _Argam?"

**End**

If I could somehow physically insert the Benny Hill theme into your minds during the Chasing Marek section (and while we're at it the mental image of a Tommy Hilfiger model reject being chased around Stormwind by a gang of clergymen), I would smile for days on end knowing my real purpose in life has been fulfilled. Alas, such is the way of physics.


	29. Wasted Away in Stranglethorn Vale

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 29 – Wasted Away in Stranglethorn Vale**

By Genoscythe

AN: Still no luck with the lines. I'll have to have a chat with the editor. And by 'have a chat' I mean 'wait until it fixes itself'.

If Xan had known anything about paratroopers and the kind of intense fear and adrenaline coursing through their veins before a drop behind enemy lines, he would have been able to make comparisons to his current mental state to pass the time. As paratroopers didn't exist yet, Xan counted the amount of graffiti scrawled on the goblin statue guarding Booty Bay as a substitute.

From their vantage point, the goblin port looked even more disparaging than usual. Holes in the docks were shoddily patched with bits ranging from mattresses to long rifles, and what appeared to be the wreckage of a zeppelin was buried in the cliffs behind it. Xan imagined there were similar wrecks dotting the landscape all across Azeroth, but this one looked fresh.

No Alliance death squads could be seen patrolling the walkways, but that hardly made any of them feel better. They were probably all inside, sharpening their weapons and buying better armor with looted gold. It was nearly time, the dock looming ahead like a noose. Xan unconsciously took a step backward and bumped into something fuzzy.

"Dere you are…" Xan grumbled, looking back at the monstrous tauren behind him. "Where da hell'd joo go?"

Argam shrugged. "Down in the hold. I was trying to make this great joke about burning alpacas, but the others wouldn't let me finish."

"So…?"

"I went to get a visual aid."

Xan slapped a palm over his face as a screaming goblin hurtled past.

"But there weren't any alpacas down there, so I just set a few sheep on fire. I took so long because I was trying to catch them."

"What happened?" Another goblin ran by, grabbing the first one and jumping together off the side of the boat.

"They ran into some room with a big black skull over the door, and all these sooty crewmembers started running out." As Argam spoke, several more goblins dashed past them and over the railing.

"We should probly do dat, huh mon?"

"I don't see why not."

"Everybody jump!" Xan yelled, waving to Melchiah, Zuridan and Meridia. "Argam set da gunpowder hold on fire!" Zuridan, Meridia, and most of the other passengers understood and began leaping off the boat. Melchiah, however, simply crossed his arms.

"Aren'choo comin'?" Xan asked, perched on the edge of the ship. Melchiah shook his head.

"I've always wanted to know what it's like to be in an explosion," he offered. "There's a graveyard nearby, if my body doesn't survive I'll find you soon enough."

Xan shrugged. "Mmmkay." He and Argam dove, and the rear of the ship blew off like the top of a soda bottle after a day in a rock tumbler. Fire quickly spread to the rest of the ship, but it hardly mattered as the shattered wooden vessel sank quickly in the oily water. Much had been said about the warm, clear seas of Stranglethorn Vale, but even more was said about a goblin's ability to turn anything he touches into something vile and profitable.

When looking for crude oil in Stranglethorn, one merely had to find a quiet spot and start pumping water out from under Booty Bay.

Bewildered and spitting out tarry liquid, the survivors quickly swam to the myriad planks jutting out from under the docks. Xan and his three living companions were forced to swim all the way to the far end of the U-shaped docks for a place to dry off.

Theirs, however, came with a ladder. Once Xan had scraped the grime off of Meridia and himself, they all ventured up the ladder and into an armory. Xan nearly fell back down to the platform below when he saw who was buying something.

"I'd like to look at that one, good servant," Granik commanded, waving a finger at no weapon in particular.

"Which one, sir, the Razor Axe of Gratuitous Bloodletting, or the Lump of Metal on a Stick?"

"Which is cheaper?"

The shopkeeper handed Granik the misshapen 'axe'. "That'll be ten gold."

"What? The guy before me got an Illegitimate Bastard Sword of Redundancy for only twelve!"

"Supply and demand, sir. There isn't much demand, so I don't have a large supply. This weapon is practically one of a kind!"

"Alright, alright…" Granik looked around sheepishly, not noticing the heads poking out of the floor trying to wrestle their way around half a troll. "Do you have anything cheaper?"

_…da hell?_

"Sir, you are holding in your hands a stick with some metal wedged into one end. I can take off the metal, but you will still be paying five gold for something you could find in the wilderness."

"If I could find half of an axe in the wilderness – "

"It's a stick, sir. Not half of an axe."

"Then why is it five gold?"

"Trader's Guild regulations. Insane prices are mandatory, actual sales are optional."

"Then I will take my business elsewhere!" Granik boomed, leaping for the doorway and splintering the frame on his way out. Xan now deemed it safe to climb into the shop.

"May I help you?" The shopkeeper asked, who looked startlingly pink and small for someone speaking orcish.

"Naw, we jus' got off an' explodin' boat," Xan said casually.

"Is that what that was? We usually don't have a problem with boats."

"Neither do we," Zuridan groaned, flicking oil on the rug. "Not boats, anyway."

"Joo ain' a good salesman," Xan remarked on his way out.

"That isn't a regulation either."

Once in the Booty Bay proper, Xan found it wasn't as bad as he had heard. There were no Alliance in sight – but, then again, Granik was there. He looked even more massive than Xan remembered, more threatening than most of the orcs he'd seen in Orgrimmar. However, it was obvious as he flexed for passing females (of any nationality) that something was wrong.

That was it. His armor looked like scraps from a Gnomish engineering convention welded together with tree sap. His tunic beneath was ragged, and his boots were little more than shin covers now. Against his better judgment, Xan approached Granik.

"What happened ta joo, mon?" He asked, and Granik spun around.

"Hmm? Do I know you?"

"Xan'Jin. I ain' seen joo since…a long time ago."

"Oh! Yeah, I _do _remember you!" Granik started, and Xan paled. He never expected someone so important or self-centered to remember him. "You were one of the last people I talked to before I did It."

"…It what?"

"It's all the rage with people these days. Or, it was back in the days that used to be these days…"

"Joo ain' makin' sense."

"It's – damn, I can't remember what it's called. But I saw this guy. He said he could take control of my body and strengthen it while my soul hibernated. He said for a nominal fee he would get me through all the boring training stages of soldier life, while improving my body pretty much while I slept. I still don't know how long he was powering me up…maybe it was called – no, lost it. All I know is I woke up here with no money, broken rookie equipment, and no skills whatsoever." Xan actually felt a dash of pity scurry across his consciousness. "But just look at these _pecs_!"

Granik's chest puffed out like an inflatable rooster, and the pity in Xan's mind bowed its head and promised to behave reasonably next time.

"Joo ain' changed much."

"On the contrary. I used to have money!"

Xan sighed. "Joo know which way Grom'Gol be?"

Granik shrugged. "I don't even know where I am. My overpowering intellect tells me we're near the ocean, though."

"No way, mon."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I'm always right," Granik plowed on, sarcasm deflecting off of him harmlessly. "A bunch of people keep running off through that cave, that's probably where your Grom'Gol is. Well, not the ladies. They've been swarming the place ever since I showed up."

_Ladies…ladies…_Xan felt his brain was trying to tell him something, so he turned his attention to it. Finally, he whipped around and counted heads. All two of them.

"Where be Meridia?"

It was customary for a depressed individual to stare glumly at their drink in-between sips (or chugs, depending on your particular weight and species), but this wasn't an option for ex-Captain Meridia Darkwater. She had no money, and therefore she had no drink. The bar atmosphere was still a choice location for even the poorest of depressed individuals, because their own misery was often lost among the throngs of everybody else's.

Meridia still felt that she had to stare at the spot where a drink would normally occupy. Just for the sake of it.

"You're missing something," a suddenly unfamiliar language spoke, and a beer stein slid into place like a puzzle piece.

"I didn't ask for charity," she began in elvish, not looking away from the mug. "I don't look like a beggar, and I thought most night elves were above bribing a woman into bed with drinks. Since that's the only thing you could _possibly _be doing…" Meridia paused so that she could shift and get a look at his face.

"You know what you look like?" He cut in before she could continue. "You look like an adventurer who needs a drink."

"Adventurer!" Meridia coughed, nonetheless taking hold of the mug. She was already a bit drunk from the tangible fumes in the air. "Alright, I've been on an adventure. That's when you're scared out of your mind for an extended period of time, right?"

"I guess _some _adventures are like that."

Meridia pulled her hood farther forward so that she could remove her mask to drink without being seen.

"I'm just trying to be helpful. You apparently have no money, you're all alone, I just wanted to get to you before the wrong people did."

"The _wrong _people?" Meridia really looked at the night elf for the first time. He was slender – but that was a given. He had the statuesque beauty of all night elves, as if someone had given life to a museum full of sculptures (and some limbs and maybe some color). However, like all night elf men, he had the Eyebrows.

Men's eyebrows drove her insane. Elf ones, at any rate. No matter what an elf's intentions were, his eyebrows invariably made them seem pompous and conceited. Simply letting them rest on their head still gives the feeling that they're saying "Oh, how sad for you, your sword only has _one _adjective on the end!"

Meridia went back to staring at her drink. "Have you ever had a dream – like a vision of paradise – but when you got there, it was nothing like you imagined?"

"Sure. All the time. I mean, everyone's always going on about Ironforge. You know how it is. Darnassus and Stormwind are practically empty except for the shopkeepers. Well, I've been there. Two words: _too crowded_."

Meridia snorted and giggled, in the end producing something that sounded like a laugh. Realizing that it was a slightly embarrassing sound, even in such an environment, she took another drink to silence herself. "That's not what I mean, stupid man. Is this elvish li-liquor?"

"Yes," the night elf answered. "You looked like you needed something strong."

"Maybe I do, but I don't need to sterilize the inside of my mouth."

The front door swung open, and all conversations dimmed noticeably. Meridia, who wasn't _entirely_ familiar with bar etiquette, continued talking and didn't bother to see who entered.

"It's just that, well – I don't fit in. See, my idea of a paradise was a place where I could be who I am without being alienated and laughed at behind my back. Instead of that, I got thrown in jail and tortured by some kind of robot demon."

"Why would people laugh at you? And what do you mean, a robot demon?"

"I'd – _hic_ – rather not say."

"Well, to me you seem like a fine young woman who's just had a run of bad luck. No need to be so hard on yourself. Why don't you come with me and my group? I guarantee you'll fit in," the elf spoke quickly, nervously eyeing the newcomers.

"Y-y'know…I'm just drunk enough to say yes." The night elf raised his glass, but before it could go anywhere else a streak of silver flew past his ear and clanked into it. The projectile bounced off the glass and spun into an open oil lamp above. It stuck perfectly through the bars, buried in the hinges on the wall.

The hinges snapped, and the lamp would have fallen on the night elf if the dagger weren't buried so deeply in the wall. Both elves turned now to see a furious troll with a tricorn hat obscuring his eyes flanked by a monstrous tauren and a slender orc. They stood in the midst of the bar, and the troll looked as though he had just thrown something.

Casually, the dagger creaked and the lamp hung a little bit lower. All conversation was mute now as the tension rose to bar-fighting intensity. The troll pointed accusingly at the night elf, growling something in trollish. Despite herself, Meridia felt a grin coming on. He certainly was dashing when he was heroic.

The elf got off his stool slowly and deliberately. From either side of the bar, a human and a gnome stepped forth to even the odds. When the gnome noticed that he was lined up with the tauren, he and the human switched places.

"Joo best get outta here, babe…" Xan snarled, drawing the sword that he still didn't know how to use. "We talk about dis later." Neither Argam or Zuridan were following his example; they were simply staring in disbelief at what Xan was doing. This was the kind of situation that Xan would _run away _from, not _start_.

Then, something very unexpected happened. The night elf ceased being a night elf and started becoming a bear. Even in his present state, Xan slackened a little. He and Argam switched places so that the tauren was in the middle and he was facing the human.

There was a tense near-silence as the groups stared each other down and the rest of the patrons pulled out their weapons. Somebody from the Horde section of the bar threw a beer mug at the druid, setting off a chain of events that only someone like Xan'Jin could possibly start.

The mug shattered against the druid's nose, and he bellowed angrily. Rearing up on his hind legs, he scanned the suddenly obedient crowd for the culprit. In doing so, he wandered backward into the bar, knocking over several mugs and soaking his back in alcohol. Unable to find the wrongdoer, he lowered back to all fours. However, the lamp that Xan had so expertly skewered on his old dagger finally gave way and tumbled onto the counter.

A gout of fire leapt out of the bar like a dragon after having its tail pulled. The flames engulfed the druid, who was himself covered in alcohol. Xan and company dove out of the way as a bear-shaped fireball thundered out the door and leapt off the docks. Instinct is never specific when it's trying to put out a fire, but it should at least learn the difference between water and crude oil.

Against a similar instinct, the entire bar erupted into battle as it was slowly being consumed by flames. The patrons were dead set on a bar fight, and if the bar happened to be burning down at the same time…so much the better. None of them had ever been in an _epic _bar fight before. Trolls were trading stabs with night elves, tauren were attempting to step on gnomes, Forsaken were creeping through the shadows and attacking anything within reach (for mages, this meant pretty much the entire bar), and orcs were simply arguing with humans over who started the war first.

Dwarves, being the only race that knew a good time had nothing to do with when to attack the enemy, congregated to the tables farthest away from the fire and continued drinking/singing/gambling/being dwarves. This was not their kind of bar fight. Dwarfish bar fights seldom had weapons, and always had survivors.

The object of Xan's motivation was currently fending off a Forsaken rogue with a broken table leg. She was cornered, and the hazy quality of her glowing eyes suggested that she hadn't completely sobered up after her drinking buddy had burst into flames.

Xan ducked under a flying gnome and climbed across a table of oblivious dwarves, fervently wishing he had another dagger to throw. The rogue was in the process of disarming Meridia when he landed on the Forsaken's shoulders. He raised his sword, but paused when he remembered who it was he was about to decapitate.

This gave the zombie a chance to shake him off, and it also gave Meridia a chance to retrieve her table leg and whack the rogue across the back of his skull. He stumbled forward, and Xan kicked him into the wall. Before he could recover and actually start fighting, Xan grabbed Meridia and pulled her back across the increasingly-heated room. If he had known that the pylons underneath the bar were burning as well, he would have pulled faster.

They swung out the door just as Granik barreled in. "Which one of you rat bastards decided to start a fight without me?" He bellowed, drawing his old axe and leaping into the fray to help whoever needed it least. By complete chance, he ended up next to Argam Stonehoof, who was being swarmed by gnome mages.

"Leave me alone, I'm flammable!" Argam roared, swinging his guitar with mindless abandon. Moradon Stonehoof, being an ancient and therefore skilled warrior, immediately cracked two gnome skulls with the steel-plated instrument. Granik joined in, swinging _his_ axe with no skill at all and merely denting the floor.

The gnomes all turned to him, firing volleys of magical energy relentlessly. Almost all of them deflected off Granik like light off a fat man's forehead. Argam spun about, sending the gnomes flying. He looked down at his guitar, then up at the fire that was rapidly creeping toward him.

With a scream, Argam knocked down the door and nearly jumped into the ocean until he noticed that there was even more fire down there. He liked fire well enough, just not _on _him. Instead of leaping into the ocean, he turned to the right and ran toward the jungle.

Xan and Meridia slumped against an alley wall far, far away from the bar. In spite of the anger he had felt earlier (which had since been replaced by an acute fear that used to occupy his every waking moment and that he had named zontanophobia) he noticed he was drawing her closer.

"You know…" Meridia began, her grip only now slackening on his neck. "I think I did what I did because I wanted to bring out the hero in you again."

"How many times I gotta tell ya, dere ain' no hero in me."

"If there weren't any hero in you, then we wouldn't be…like we are right now." Meridia slipped off her hood and mask.

"Joo sayin' normal people can' be…like we are now?"

"Xan, if we were normal people, I wouldn't have tusks and you wouldn't still be wearing that ridiculous hat."

"Hey!" Xan shoved her away and pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes. "It's sexy."

Meridia was in the process of giggling when Xan grabbed her by the waist and violently pulled her back across the alley.

"Wow, that was fa – " The words died in Meridia's throat as a line of at least twenty goblins scurried down the alley holding a fire hose over their heads. The one and a half trolls waited impatiently as the fire brigade crossed the alley and began aiming the hose at the quickly-spreading fire on the water.

Xan looked down, and Meridia looked up. They were as close as they could possibly be without skewering one another on their tusks. _Dis would be da moment, champ…_Inside Xan insinuated to Outside Xan. Outside Xan needed little insinuating.

He leaned in, and their eyes closed. In their defense, at the time they would never have thought that they would need them open.

"Babe…"

"Is that tusk?"

_"Oh my god!"_

"Ja. It's goin' into my neck."

"Sorry. Maybe if we…"

_"This is the wrong kind of fire hose!"_

"No, den joo get'cha eye poked out."

"You're right. Damn, I didn't think it would be this hard."

_"It's just adding to the flames!"_

"It's dese huge friggin' tusks o' mine."

"Can I cut 'em off?"

_"Who the hell _makes _these things?"_

_"Pun department, sir!"_

"Joo kiddin'? Dat's like askin' to cut off…sometin' else."

Meridia gasped slightly. "Well, if your tusks are any indication…"

Xan merely smiled.

_"Tell someone to get a water hose! And go fire the pun department! _Not _with _that_!"_

In the distance, the sound of a bar collapsing in on itself could be heard. It was a very distinctive sound, like a sigh of relief.

"Let's figure this out another time," Meridia suggested.

"Sure ting, babe."

**End**

AN: For everybody who doesn't know Greek (meaning everybody) zontanophobia means fear of living...I think. I used an online dictionary, so it could mean something else entirely but none of you would ever know the difference.


	30. Where Did All Those Spears Come From?

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 30 – My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and Where Did All Those Spears Come From?**

By Genoscythe

AN: It's gonna be hard to keep updating this thing, even with the erratic schedule it's had. I have to work, go to school, and write my real novel so I can quit work. Very little time is left to devote to fanfiction, but I'll do as much as I can when I can. That's about all I can promise at this moment.

* * *

Xan surveyed the wreckage that was Booty Bay in terrified admiration. The collapse of the Fish Heds bar, tavern and pub had the effect of a small-scale black hole in that it had dragged a considerable number of other buildings down with it by the time all the fires were out. Not to mention the city had been in disarray from what one goblin rescue worker described as a 'horrible zeppelin accident', and there were still bits of the Ratchet ship floating to shore. 

Personally, Xan blamed goblin engineering. It wasn't like anything _else _he touched burst into flames.

Argam had returned from the jungle smelling of gorilla, and Zuridan dragged himself and another orc out of the wreckage. At first, Xan and Meridia thought he was rescuing someone – until he tore into its jugular vein.

Granik had emerged first, and everything around him had been miraculously spared. This included Zuridan, but Xan quickly told him not to develop any kind of respect for the orc.

"Don't you think it's odd that everywhere we go, there's explosions?" Zuridan asked, quietly working over the dead orc's right hand.

"Don'choo tink it's odd dat joo eatin' a stranger's finger?"

"Mmhm," Zuridan conceded, his mouth full of digit. He swallowed quickly. "But seriously. There were _two _today! At least! Booty Bay is in ruin now, thanks to us."

"An' goblin engineering," Xan muttered under his breath. Argam heard, and raised his hand for a high five. Xan was afraid to oblige him.

"We should get out of here before they start making inquiries."

"Like what? Who turned into da flaming purple bear an' jumped into da water?"

"Good point. It's not our fault."

"Not at all," Argam affirmed, trying to be of some use to the conversation. So, it was decided. All the people that died were at fault. Nevertheless, they ran as quickly and inconspicuously as possible.

They found Melchiah sitting on the side of the road. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, making passing fresh-faced adventurers cry. It helped that he knew both orcish and common, and he had enough horror stories and grim facts of life to upset any particular species with any particular disposition.

It was with great reluctance that he followed them down the road to Grom'Gol. Xan couldn't help but notice that, all throughout the trip, every bit of jungle that wasn't the road seemed to be angry at them. Such a multitude of hissing, growling, and less identifiable animal noises assaulted them from all sides that Xan believed if they took one step off the beaten path they would end up in about ten different stomachs.

"Joo'd keep us safe, if anyting attacked. Right Mel?" Xan asked plaintively.

Melchiah continued chuckling maniacally all the way to Grom'Gol.

* * *

"So you see, brave warrior. I can cast very powerful enchantments." 

"I'm actually not a – "

"I shall make a very special item indeed…"

"I'm not sure that I _want_ a – "

"Bring to me some Shadowmaw Panther claws along with a Tigress fang. Not just any fang will do. It must be in pristine condition."

"What does that _mean_ – "

"Go swiftly, warrior. I fear – "

"Go where?" Argam interrupted doggedly. Far Seer Mok'thardin paused, his carefully-choreographed instructions having gotten the proverbial wrench thrown into them.

"Well…go…into the jungle, of course!"

"But I don't really want to go there."

"You do if you want my help!"

"See, that's another thing – "

"It is a magnificent enchantment, passed down through my family for generations and given to countless wayward soldiers."

"What does it do?"

"It is very powerful."

"But what does it do?"

"It is a most fitting reward for a hero such as yourself."

"You know, I don't think I really want it."

"You don't…_want_ my enchantment?" Mok'thardin looked aghast and, above all, that it was unthinkable to refuse such a wonderful gift.

"I just stopped by to pick up some supplies. I was on my way to meet up with my friends – they're over on the beach figuring out how to kiss each other – and then you started yelling at me and you won't tell me what exactly you're trying to give me and I don't know where to _find_ pristine tigers and you won't listen and I feel like I have to stay because that's what a good soldier does but good soldiers also need to breathe sometimes."

And then he fell over.

Mok'thardin cursed, realized that this would look like another drugging to the guards, and quickly gave him a potent Revival Slap.

"What were you talking about?" Argam sputtered, sitting up and almost headbutting the Far Seer into oblivion.

"Get me some panther claws and a pristine tigress fang."

"Where are those?"

"In the jungle."

"Okay." Argam picked up the scattered bits of food and small arms (for Zuridan) that he had dropped and trudged out the back gate toward the beach. Sitting cross-legged in the sand, Xan'Jin was etching a line in the ground with a stick.

"If I move like dis, tusk A goes to quadrant 3 while tusk B…"

"No, we're not factoring in length," Meridia interrupted across from him, grabbing the stick out of his hands and making her own alterations on their drawing. "If we try that way, tusk A goes dangerously close to my ear."

"Define dangerously."

"Sure to cause gratuitous bleeding."

"Oh. Damn."

"XAN!" Argam roared politely. The troll sighed and turned to his partner.

"Ja mon?"

"I got supplies and some arms for Zuridan."

"And?"

"I talked to some strangers."

"And?"

"We have to go find some panthers and tigers and get their claws and fangs."

Xan looked at Meridia, who looked at Argam, who tried to look at both his allies at once and nearly lost control of his eyeballs. "Why?" Xan finally asked.

"Because we'll get a really powerful, magnificent enchantment when we do," Argam answered matter-of-factly.

"What, like da people wit dose glowy swords?"

"He didn't specify."

"Well, sounds like it be worth a shot," Xan announced, but Meridia cleared her throat.

"You aren't making plans to go on some kind of quest, are you?" She asked in trollish.

"Uh, I – "

"Because you've already got a quest," she purred.

Xan turned many different colors just then – far more than nature intended, but nature also never intended for one specific creature to contain so much unadulterated glee.

"Ah…uh…ja, I mean…"

"Tell Argam to come back later."

"Joo betta off on ya own, mon," Xan eventually gulped out. Argam was mortified.

"What? Xan, I can't do a quest without you watching my back!"

"Den joo gonna hafta wait." Xan's look carried with it the kind of finality usually seen in men that have just answered the question: "Are you _sure_ you want fifteen apple pies as your last meal?"

He grabbed Meridia by the wrist and pulled her in fiercely. In their embrace, they turned defiantly on Argam, who took a step backward.

"O-okay…" He murmured, confused and frightened by their determination. "I'll just be fishing…over there." With that, Argam ran off down the beach.

"Was all that really necessary?" Meridia asked when he had gone.

"Ja," Xan affirmed. "We gonna get dis kiss if it takes all day. Now what about quadrant 4, nuttin' been tried over dere…"

"Screw it," Meridia muttered, kicking over their elaborate sand diagram and pulling Xan to his feet. "There's other places on my body you can kiss."

* * *

Zuridan was less anxious to leave because he was excited to see Duskwood and more because he was afraid that Melchiah's mounting rage would be vented on him if they didn't hurry. Argam was supposed to be getting them supplies and orc body parts for the trip, but neither he nor the one and a half trolls were present on the beach where they were supposed to meet. 

"I've got an idea," Melchiah began somberly. "Why don't we follow the trails of stupid and see where they went."

"You mean destruction," Zuridan corrected.

"Destruction and stupid both start with shut up."

Zuridan ignored the comment and peered into the distance. "Isn't that Argam over there?"

"It looks like something's stabbing him with something."

"Are those _murlocs_?"

"Now it looks like he's running this way."

"Is that a _crocolisk_?"

"And he's going, going…"

"What are crocolisks doing in salt water?"

"Gone!"

Argam flopped wetly at their feet. The three murlocs and one giant crocolisk reconsidered going anywhere near the imposing Forsaken.

"Where's our supplies?" Melchiah asked immediately.

"The murlocs took them," Argam panted. "I think I'm bleeding."

"Great," Melchiah groaned. "Wonderful. Beautiful. Now we have to go buy more supplies."

"Or get our old stuff back from the murlocs," Zuridan suggested.

Melchiah snorted. "As the humans say, bugger that for a game of soldiers."

"OR!" Argam shouted excitedly. "We could ask Granik to do it!"

Both Zuridan and Melchiah froze. They exchanged glances, both saying 'did he just suggest what I think he just suggested?'

"What would an almost complete stranger want risking his life to get back our supplies – which didn't cost very much to begin with?"

"Fame and recognition and a light workout?"

Zuridan pondered this for a moment. "Argam, that's brilliant."

"I know," Argam said proudly. "I'm still bleeding."

"Let's go find Granik," Zuridan suggested, turning and squelching over Argam's prone body. Melchiah followed at a grim pace. Slowly, the crocolisks and murlocs began creeping in for the kill, but they darted away again as Granik bounded out the front gates of Grom'Gol, swinging his axe and yodeling viciously. Several hours later, he bounded back with a bundle of soggy foodstuffs and nary a scratch on him.

"What took you so long?" Zuridan asked, pulling an arm out of a sack and chewing on it thoughtfully.

"Those are tough murlocs," Granik replied, setting a blunt and dented axe on the ground. "I wouldn't recommend taking them on by yourself unless you're as awesome as I am. Can I have some money?"

Zuridan dumped a gold piece in Granik's hand. The orc pumped his fist in the air.

"Hey, why are you three gentlemen sitting out on the beach?"

"We're afraid of what we might do to Grom'Gol," Zuridan answered.

"Now why would…" Granik trailed off as he remembered what happened to Booty Bay. "Of course. The explosions."

Argam yawned, sucking in enough air to feed a poor family and swallowing a myriad of flying bugs.

"Well, we've got all the crap we need," Melchiah announced. "Let's get going, Zuridan."

"Where are you headed?" Granik asked.

"And where's Xan?" Argam asked.

"Duskwood, and I don't know."

"Why Duskwood?' Granik asked.

"Do you think he started the quest without me?" Argam asked.

"Because I'm hunting a lich, and definitely not."

"Can I come with you?" Granik asked.

"Can I come with you?" Argam asked.

"Yes, and no."

Zuridan was feeling marginally better about Duskwood now. Melchiah seemed to forget that dying carried a heavier consequence for his living companion, and _any_ chance to prevent that eventuality made Zuridan feel better. As the three of them turned toward the road, Argam pouted balefully.

"What am I supposed to do until you get back?" He asked.

"I don't know what retards normally fill up their time with," Melchiah snapped, not turning back.

"Go look for Xan or something," Zuridan suggested half-heartedly.

"Buy me a new axe," Granik asked. Argam pondered his list of choices (it was a long list, since he _did _know what retards normally filled up their time with) and finally decided to buy Granik a new axe. He had already forgotten the second choice.

* * *

Fortunately, Xan'Jin did not want to be found. He was currently covered by a blanket of euphoria. He was also covered by a naked night elf, but to most people it's the same thing. Their position was not ideal, but at the moment Xan could care less. This position being sprawled on a tree limb hanging a dangerous distance from the ground. Shifting the wrong way would send Meridia – and maybe himself – tumbling off the branch. But the tree branch was necessary, because making love on a tree branch in the jungle was strangely erotic for one, and because Stranglethorn's understory layer had the least dangerous creatures for another. 

They would have picked the beach, but it was a popular route for the Alliance, not to mention the crocolisks, murlocs, raptors, basilisks, pirates, smugglers and wild trolls. At least the tree limb was _overhanging_ the beach.

Xan had just awoken from a post-lovemaking nap, and it appeared Meridia was still out cold. He sighed happily, looking down at a pair of small, vicious birds tearing at each other over a sand crab. It had been a first for both of them. Well, almost. Meridia had done it once a few hundred years ago, but once in eight hundred years was _practically _being a virgin.

Lazily, Xan stretched and moved Meridia to a safe spot on the branch. Swinging down limb by limb, Xan was soon at the beach. However, in looking around for their scattered clothes, he discovered that he was being held at spearpoint from behind by a frog-like creature no higher than his knees.

"What da hell…?" Xan muttered groggily, pushing the spear out of his way. The murloc glarbled and jabbed him with a no-nonsense thrust. Xan jumped back, startled into sobriety. "Hey! Joo take all our clothes or someting, mon?" He continued backing up until he felt another spearhead against his back.

"Meri…" Xan tried to mutter both urgently and unthreateningly, only to find that such things didn't mix. More murlocs surged out of the ocean, all brandishing spears, bandanas, face paint, bandoliers full of arrows and occasionally baggy camo shorts. In other words, they were the butchest murlocs known to Azeroth. They were the Vile Fins.

One murloc in particular caught Xan's eye. It strutted forward with its webbed hands behind its back. A waterlogged vest and a necklace of crocolisk teeth set it apart more than its deep green skin or its height. It stood about crotch-level with Xan, which he suddenly felt he should cover up.

"I…" The murloc croaked in passable orcish. "…am Commander Kirmytte. You…help us find Green One."

"Green one?" Xan questioned.

"Green One," Kirmytte corrected. "With…capital letters."

"Oh, like a person?"

"Yes."

"I know lotsa green people, mon. Which one joo want?"

"He…is large. A great…warrior. He…has slain many of my men." Having to croak at the beginning of every sentence eliminated any menace Commander Kirmytte had been trying to produce.

"Joo mean Granik? Sounds like sometin he'd do," Xan said, helpfully uttering one of the bigger mistakes he would ever make.

"So…you _do _know Green One!" Kirmytte growled, motioning for the other Vile Fin murlocs. They prodded Xan toward the ocean, with their commander bringing up the rear. "You…will tell us about Green One. We…will use torture."

"Joo don' have to," Xan suggested lightly.

"Yes, but…we like it."

**End**

AN: Don't be afraid that the part you want might not make it into the Stranglethorn section, because it's going to be long and hopefully encompass a lot of things. Next chapter will be fighting elite frogs, then that stupid enchantment quest, then probably an arena fight (which I'll have to make up since I never did one of those) and some Indiana Jones parodies. Only time will tell.


	31. Wheels in Motion

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 31 – Wheels in Motion**

By Genoscythe

**AN: Wow. It feels good to be back. _Really_ good. I'm sorry there's no big crazy action-packed chapter ready for you all after that record-breaking hiatus, but I think that was part of the problem. I kept trying to write a big crazy action-packed chapter, and it wasn't coming out right. Fortunately, I think I've kicked the crap out of this titanic writer's block, so you won't have to wait like four months for the next chapter.

* * *

**

Marek Belheim stumbled through the ebony forest. He wasn't sure where he was, only that it was far from Stormwind. After jumping off the outer wall and healing his broken legs, it still took the guards a good five minutes to find the front gate and haul it open. By then, Marek had stolen a horse and was riding north.

Now he was so north he was probably south, and his horse had died long ago. Marek still didn't understand why. Horses didn't have to eat too, did they?

**Arthas…** An eldritch voice rumbled through the forest. It was the same one that had drawn Marek in the first place.

"Who?"

**Arthas…** It rumbled again.

"Hello?" Marek wandered blindly around a sickly tree. There was no sign of a pursuer, and Marek was pretty perceptive about those kinds of things.

**Arthas, come hither, bitch! **It finally snapped. It had ceased echoing, and Marek followed the voice to a tree even stranger than most. From far away, it looked like a thin mushroom.

"Who are you talking to?" Marek asked.

**…Arthas?**

"My name's Marek," Marek said.

**You are kidding me. Where is Arthas?**

"I'm not sure. I heard he was shacking up with the Lich King in Northrend."

**Ah, that must be why I cannot contact him. Please do not phrase it like that again, it is gross.**

"Who are _you_?" Marek dubiously looked behind the tree, then started running laps around it.

**Are you a paladin? **It asked.

"Totally," Marek responded.

**Very well. I am the source of your power.**

"You mean the Light?"

**If you prefer.**

"You're a tree?"

**Nay, dumbass. I am many things, though I was once but a mere sword.**

"The Light was coming from a sword?" Marek asked.

**Wrong again, fool. The blade Frostmourne was the link connecting my realm to Azeroth. Once Arthas acquired it, he began to spread my influence. **

"How did he…" Marek trailed off as he found a carving etched into the gnarled bark. It was a heart, encompassing the words 'Arthas + Jaina'. "Oh."

**Yes, he did not exactly do it on purpose, but what the hell.**

"Wait a second…" Marek scratched his chin, a signal to all that he was attempting a thought process or two. "I heard Frostmourne was an evil sword."

**Only hippie losers believe Frostmourne is evil. You are not a hippie loser, are you what's-your-name?**

"I'm Marek."

**Yes.**

"And I'm no hippie loser."

**Then step lively, my child. Good old Uncle G'naarlesh has a gift for you.**

Marek was halfway across the distance between himself and the tree when he paused. "Wait, who?"

**The Light, is what I said. Yes. The Light will now bestow on you the powers necessary to…look, just come here and touch the goddamn tree.**

"Well, I _do _like gifts…" Marek muttered thoughtfully. He took a tentative step forward. The oddly-shaped tree did not try to eat him. Marek's views on nature were that if it didn't immediately eat you, then there was nothing to worry about. He also believed that nature existed to be exploited by man, which was exactly what he thought he was doing when he pressed his palm against the rotten bark.

**Sweet,** the tree rumbled as Marek was torn, screaming, into another dimension.

* * *

If Vismund Cygnus were prone to the kind of petty emotions that brought on things like discomfort, then he would have hated Westfall. As it stood, he merely saw it as so much dry leaves and rampant superstition. The joy at touching solid ground after a weeklong trip across the ocean in a boat you could spit across was fading fast. Hindrex had already provoked a Harvest Golem into chasing them across a field of dead wheat, and Dillon complained incessantly about all the straw caught in his hair. 

However, it could have been worse. They could have actually _seen _the lighthouse, steered away from the rocks, and floated into the clutches of the Defias Brotherhood. The Harvest Golem could have actually _killed _Hindrex. The Burning Legion could have actually come back a _fourth _time, but even the musicians thought this was at least improbable.

It still didn't help them get to Sentinel Hill any faster.

"Why can't we just skip it and go straight on to Duskwood?" Dillon asked Cygnus as they scanned the horizon for highwaymen and Harvest Golems. "There's plenty of towns and cottages and shacks and outhouses there."

"You have a problem with Westfall?" Cygnus returned calmly.

"Yeah, I have a problem with Westfall. It's like being on the ass of a dead fat guy."

"Have you ever been to Duskwood? For that matter, have you ever been on the ass of a dead fat guy?"

"I bet it's hot and itchy," Dillon shot back.

"And covered in little brown strands," Hindrex added.

"What, you mean the _wheat_?" Cygnus asked. The two marines withered under his logic. "Duskwood is hardly any better. Like Westfall, most of its settlements have been overrun by unfriendly forces. Besides, I know a man at Sentinel Hill."

"Like that guy you 'knew' in Tanaris?" They both remembered the fisherman Cygnus had gotten the boat from. He went from being a complete stranger to Cygnus's best friend in a matter of words.

"No, Judas and I are on more familiar terms."

"Met before, have you?"

"Yes."

The priest's skeletal honesty was getting on their nerves, but neither soldier dared bring it up.

"So…is this Judas a priest too?" Dillon asked as Hindrex shouldered the equipment. The fields were clear, and would probably remain so for a good few minutes. They had to hurry if they were to avoid the Brotherhood – or worse, the things rumored to lurk in the wheat fields.

"Yes," Cygnus answered simply, sliding down their lookout knoll. "He was allowed to establish a church at Sentinel Hill, to help with the marines' morale. I warn you, he is Different."

"He is?" At that point in history, there weren't many different kinds of Different.

"Flagrantly. He believes he is keeping it secret, however. The poor man." Something jittered in the bronze fuzz at their feet, and Dillon screamed. This aggravated the something, and it promptly launched itself out of the dying wheat and onto his face.

Hindrex prepared to surgically remove it with his broadsword, but Cygnus merely reached over and grabbed the creature by the scruff of its neck. It was a possum, and having failed to cling to Dillon's face for dear life, it spun about and grabbed Cygnus's arm.

"It's scared out of its mind," Cygnus murmured. He stared at it for a moment, and it went slack in his grasp. With a sigh, he let it go gently on the ground. Immediately, the possum darted away through the wheat.

"Huh. Wonder why," Hindrex mused as the three Stormwind Marines continued toward Sentinel Hill. In the distance, a mass of straw and reaping blades shifted its deadly mass. Seeming to come to a decision, it lurched after the retreating humans with deliberate speed. Like an avalanche in slow motion, dozens of similar mounds whirred to life and followed the first.

* * *

"Do you always talk this much?" Melchiah growled, tenting his claws and creating an unnerving clacking sound with them. 

"We don't get visitors, well…ever," their host answered, painfully aware of the fact that his fellow Forsaken had murder in his eyes, and that it was obviously one of the natural states he occupied (in much the same way that water is usually liquid).

Skinny was an oddball among the Forsaken because he didn't feel hopelessly depressed all the time. He even set up a discreet checkpoint for traveling Horde soldiers in the Alliance-dominated forest of Duskwood out of the kindness of his heart – and the emptiness of his pockets. It usually cost money to stay the night or eat the meals that Skinny's associate, Cook, conjured up. Unfortunately for Skinny, their new guests qualified for the 'I'll let you stay as long as you don't stab me in the face' discount.

The three soldiers tucked silently into their food, grateful for Melchiah's interference as the greasy Forsaken's strange, nasally voice had begun to take its toll on their nerves. Skinny really _didn't_ get many visitors – most soldiers trying to reach the Swamp of Sorrows on foot did so in a flat-out run, and the Horde never came to Duskwood for any other reason. It was lonely, and Cook was no company at all.

"I must commend you, this pheasant is legendary!" Granik boomed, carefully directing his praise to Cook so as not to start another rant on how the trees changed shades of black if you stared at them long enough. The Forsaken toiled away at a cauldron propped against a burnt-out house some distance away from their meager campfire, and he seemed to pay them no mind.

"I'm kinda curious, actually…" Zuridan began.

"About what?" Skinny jumped on the opportunity before Zuridan could continue. "How I managed to gather five different kinds of firewood for this here bonfire?"

"No, no. What? Can't I just talk to that guy over there?" Zuridan pointed to Cook, who gurgled something inaudible.

"I'm afraid not, snapdad. He's a little short on words at the moment," Skinny answered cryptically.

"Well, I was wondering how you two got all this food for us. I mean, pheasant? Granik asked for one and you just happened to have it? And after that, I asked for roast raptor as a joke." To emphasize his point, Zuridan bit off a hefty, scaly chunk of roast raptor from his plate. "There aren't any goddamn raptors in Duskwood, so where is this stuff coming from?"

Skinny took a deep breath. Melchiah groaned.

"Okay, snapdad, let me tell you something 'bout my friend Cook. Would you believe he's one of the greatest wizards of all time?"

"No."

"That's too bad, 'cause he is. He's such a fantastic mage that he can polymorph people indefinitely, and into whatever critter he wants."

Zuridan looked to his more experienced companions, and both of them shook their heads. "They're telling me that's impossible."

"Ordinarily, yes. But just ask that sonsabitch you're digging into right now, he'll tell you."

Zuridan turned over the burnt raptor in his hands, and realized for the first time that it had a large, braided beard. He shrugged and took another bite. If he could cannibalize a fellow orc, eating a former dwarf was easy.

Granik was less than okay with that. "You mean…this pheasant used to be…"

"Yeah. Lots o' little humans and dwarves run around Duskwood. Nobody notices when a few go missing."

"But you can't cast a permanent polymorph spell!" The burly orc protested. "If you could, we'd all be ruled by scrawny wizards. It's bad enough turning into a sheep for thirty seconds, I can't imagine…"

"I told you, snapdad, Cook's a one-of-a-kind. Nobody else can do what he does with magic."

Zuridan turned around and found the world's greatest mage gnawing on one of his own exposed femurs.

"I'll bet it has something to do with why he's dumb as a kodo."

"Right you are. Y'see, the reason why you don't hear about all them really _great_ magicians, is 'cause they got so much knowledge in 'em there's not room for much else. Find a ramblin' hobo on the street, there's a good chance he can make it rain ice cream if'n he had some incentive.

"What happens is, the real dedicated wizards like ol' Cook learn so much that stuff literally starts spillin' out their ears. When you know how to make the planet spin a diff'rent direction, you kinda forget about all the little things, like how to talk."

Zuridan scratched his head. Granik looked equally puzzled. Melchiah hadn't been paying attention, so he remained unaffected. "But I've seen people who spent their lives trying to unlock the secrets of magic," Zuridan insisted. "None of them have gone stupid or learned anything more spectacular than a Pyroblast."

"That's 'cause most people's brains don't let 'em get that far. Only reason this happened to Cook was 'cause he got killed by the Scourge at the battle of Dalaran. He's one of the only dead mages that didn't fall in under Arthas after it was all over, so's he kept his free will unlike the other poor sonsabitches. Before the Alliance came an' started rebuilding, he grabbed as much as he could and took off like a rat out of an aqueduct. Found him wandering around Hillsbrad, makin' chickens' heads explode."

With that, Skinny turned toward Cook and started speaking gibberish. As if dragged by a magnet, the bony Forsaken sloughed over to the campfire. It was only then that the three Horde soldiers could see a large iron pipe sticking out of Cook's right eye socket.

"Are you sure he's not just stupid?" Zuridan asked, reaching out and tugging on the pipe.

"You crazy, snapdad!" Skinny bleated, smacking Zuridan's hand away. "No tellin' what'll happen if'n you pull that out!"

The hunched Forsaken began to drool, and the sickly liquid eventually reached Melchiah's shoulder. Granik and Zuridan sucked in their breath, making an effort to move away as inconspicuously as possible. Skinny didn't seem to notice the change in the winds, nor did he notice that his partner was still drooling on their guest.

"See, I think this pipe's what let's him learn all the magic stuff he – "

"He's still drooling on me," Melchiah observed.

" – an' if you pull it out, he might just up an' – "

"And you're still talking," he added, a hiss of ethereal steam rising from his clenched jaws.

" – which reminds me, in a kinda roundabout way, what brings you all to my neck o' the woods?"

Granik and Zuridan were gone, and just in time. Melchiah stood up slowly, in a way that practically demands dramatic camera angles. He didn't bother turning around.

"Answer this question correctly," he suggested darkly, purposely leaving the 'Or I'll…' to Skinny's imagination. It sent a quiver through the Forsaken's rotten frame. "Have you seen a Lich around here?"

"I, uh…yes?"

"Where?"

"Er – " At the first sign of a stutter, Melchiah's sword flashed into existence. Holding it to the ground, he spun to face them, dragging the blade through their campfire and cutting a fiery swath between himself and the two Forsaken. He held the burning sword where it had completed its arc as the sudden motion stirred embers and tiny wisps of flame around him.

"I've had enough of both of you," he snarled, the fire in his eyes matching that of the embers.

"But you'll let us live if we help you find a Lich?" Skinny added hopefully.

"No. I'll let you live if I never have to hear that annoying voice of yours again."

Skinny opened his mouth, but Cook abruptly slapped it shut. Self-preservation was one of the things he hadn't yet forgotten.

"Wonderful. Load up a bag of edible stuff, I don't give a damn what, and give it to the big green guy."

Granik and Zuridan appeared out of the foliage. The larger orc was about to remind Melchiah about his name, but Zuridan stopped him. Nobody knew self-preservation better than a member of Xan's group.

Skinny moved to fulfill Melchiah's request, but the former colonel laid his still-glowing sword flat on Skinny's shoulder. The Forsaken trembled as his shoulder sizzled with pain, but bravely fought back words.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you could polymorph people into food. Maybe I'm getting you confused with someone else."

Skinny quietly muttered a command to Cook, who shambled to the ruined house where Melchiah guessed they kept their prisoners before turning them into delicious animals. After some strange sounds issued from the house, Cook returned with a lumpy burlap sack.

"Everybody rested up?" Melchiah asked as Granik and Zuridan shouldered the gear. They both shook their heads sadly. "Good. The Lich hunt hasn't even started yet."

* * *

Meridia Darkwater gave Xan an experimental squeeze, hoping against hope that she wasn't dreaming. He felt solid enough – a little different, almost furry, but solid. Without opening her eyes, she yawned contentedly. It was the first time she had ever made love without being ashamed immediately afterward, and she wanted to chase that feeling. Settling back on the tree branch, she pulled Xan in tighter. 

"For a second, I was afraid it was all a dream," Meridia said.

"Ook," Xan replied.

Her eyes shot open and aimed down. A monkey was nestling against her chest, and quite enjoying it despite the obvious species discrepancies. Angrily, she grabbed the mammal by the tail and hurled it toward the ocean. Before it even touched the water, five different kinds of carnivorous fish leapt out and each of them got a piece of it.

In retrospect, it seemed like an overreaction, but she probably wouldn't have done it if she had known what lurked beneath the waves.

_So where the hell is Xan?_ She mused. Swinging her legs over the edge of the branch, she scanned the beach. Signs of the troll rogue were nowhere to be found, and neither were their clothes. _He took off? With _both _our clothes?_

Meridia didn't buy it. This scene screamed 'tragic romance', in which she, the hapless maiden believing her lover to have taken flight, kills herself out of grief. The charming gentleman returns from a perfectly reasonable errand to find her dead, and takes his own life as a result.

No. Meridia knew better than that. She knew that Xan couldn't have stolen her clothes, because Alliance armor doesn't go for much with Horde traders. She knew that Xan wouldn't leave her, because _he _knew she was the best he could ever get. She knew he had no reason to leave her, and that Xan needed at least a flimsy reason to do _anything _foolish. She couldn't think of anything more foolish than leaving a beautiful, intelligent night elf who understood him more than anyone else on Azeroth.

The only answer left was that he had been abducted by something, and that was far easier to believe.

Almost instantly, she discovered a mess of tracks in the sand made by webbed feet that led from the ocean to where they had dropped their clothes.

_Murlocs, Vile Fins if I remember that seminar on fighting amphibious enemies…_Meridia's first instinct was to dive into the surf, but then she remembered the monkey. With a groan, she leapt nimbly back into the canopy layer. Hopping from branch to branch like she used to do in the admittedly nicer foliage of Ashenvale, she stopped when she came upon a recently-deceased raptor.

"Time to put your survival training to the test," she murmured quietly. Dropping from the branch like a shadow, she grabbed the dead raptor's biggest claw and tugged it out. Decomposition had been swift in arriving, as only the jungle could deliver. Even so, a considerable amount of night elf strength was necessary to dislodge it.

Meridia traveled by treetops once more, just as a safety precaution for herself and for any heterosexual soldier that might see her naked. Once she had returned to the beach, she clenched the raptor claw in her teeth and dove beneath the waves.

**End**


	32. We Fight for Love

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 32 – We Fight For Love**

By Genoscythe

Xan'Jin knew he was in trouble when the Vile Fin murlocs failed to realize that trolls couldn't breathe underwater.

He hadn't been dragged very far, as the Vile Fins' hideout sat on the edge of the continental shelf just by the shore. But the only thing that meant for him was that he would drown instead of being crushed by extreme pressure. The Vile Fins pulling him along swam into a tiny sunken temple and pushed him into a wooden cage they had tied to the floor.

As soon as they slammed the door, he began shaking his head and making choking gestures. The guard thought he was threatening him, so he jabbed the troll in the ribs. Just before Xan started to pass out, he could make out a murloc with a seashell tied to its head and a white coat swimming rapidly toward the cage.

It explained, with a series of burbles and gurgles, that the prisoner could not, in point of fact, breathe at the moment and was about to drown. Begrudgingly, the guard untied the bottom of the cage and it was positioned over a bubbling crack outside. After several gestures from the murloc in the coat, Xan deduced that he was somehow supposed to get air from the bubbles filling his cage.

This was suspiciously easier than it should have been. In no time, Xan stopped seeing spots and feeling faint.

"They have…to exist," the murloc explained. "Otherwise…nobody would be able to swim."

_Oh, _dat_ makes sense, _Xan thought dryly.

"I…am Sharkeye. Vile Fin…field medic," the murloc doctor said. "They just…don't get it. Not everybody…has gills!" he muttered more to himself than Xan. "You just may be…the first prisoner we've kept alive this long."

_I feel betta already._

"Don't ask me…how Kirmytte plans on _interrogating_ you."

"Mmph," Xan replied, shrugging.

"Well…if you'll excuse me…there's some hot nurses whose eggs need fertilizing. If…you know what I mean."

Xan simply looked silently disgusted.

"Don't go…dying on me," Sharkeye said light-heartedly. Then, his face fell and the light disappeared from his eyes. "I've seen…too much of that already." The drama was somewhat ruined by his need to croak at the beginning of a sentence. Xan didn't know how to respond to the sudden change in tone, but he didn't have to as Sharkeye swam away glumly.

_Wait a sec, what'd joo do wit my hat? _Xan wanted to yell after him, but was stopped by the prospect of filling his lungs with sea water. Then, an even more horrifying idea came to him. _What'd dey do wit _Meridia_?

* * *

_

The half-elf, half-troll in question was currently swimming in circles, scanning the ocean floor as best she could without any sort of goggles. Warm current enveloped her, gently prodded her blue-purple flesh. It would have been relaxing under different circumstances.

Like, perhaps, if she weren't in Stranglethorn Vale.

A dark shape flashed beneath her, and she readied the raptor claw she had pilfered. This creature, whatever it was, moved like it owned the ocean. Maybe it did, but not for long if it was stupid enough to attack an armed night elf.

Meridia continued to swim along lazily, holding the raptor claw upside-down and pretending not to watch the giant fish watching her. It mimicked her approach; cruising along in a tightening circle around her, occasionally darting forward only to pull back again.

If only the poor bastard knew.

Meridia hoped it would make a move soon, for she was starting to run out of air. Even though she was the only one who paid attention in aquatic combat training, it was only so long that advanced breathing techniques could keep you underwater – unless you wanted to take up residence permanently.

Finally, the creature darted forward, coming from behind. Meridia kicked off and arced backward, hooking the raptor claw on the roof of its gaping mouth as it sped past. She planted a foot on the back of its slender body and yanked with all her considerable might, nearly bending the fish in half and getting a satisfying snap out of the process.

Meridia didn't have time to savor her victory, and instead she pushed off of the giant limp fish in the direction of the surface. The sparkling water parted, and she sucked in such humid air that she might as well have taken a breath while still underwater.

_Still no closer to finding Xan, _she mused grimly. Tossing back her glistening red hair, she heard several faint gasps just outside her field of vision.

"Bur," someone murmured almost silently, and Meridia felt a chill run down her spine. She knew what that meant, and she knew why the human had said it. Without her clothes, she looked more troll than night elf (albeit a very fit and perky troll) and it came as no surprise that she was about to get a paladin's hammer across her skull.

When nothing happened except more stuttering gasps, she turned to see who had spoken. A small wooden boat floated next to her, and two human fishermen sat with jaws slack and fishing poles dangling limply.

"Okay, I know what this looks like," Meridia began to explain in Common. "I'm a night elf in disguise. You two, are you soldiers?"

"Just…just fishermen," the bolder of the two spoke. "We heard there was some kind of competition, so we thought we'd check it out."

"Bur?" she spat. "So you think this is funny?"

"That was my partner, he's just – "

"I don't give a damn. I only give a damn about two things right now: where the Vile Fins are hiding out, and if you have any underwater breathing potion."

"We're not, y'know…"

"I've never had to pull rank on a civilian before, human. You don't want to see me try."

"Okay, okay," the fisherman gave in. "Someone warned me about a little island north of here. Said there's really badass murlocs nearby."

"That would be the Vile Fins."

"Do you want some clothes? My lad here would probably be able to part with his jacket."

"I would?" the other human finally spoke up.

"No, that'll slow me down," Meridia answered, to their obvious delight.

"Well, we've got a few breathing potions, but you're gonna have to come up and get them," the first fisherman offered, a sudden glint in his eye. "We don't want to get ourselves wet, or anything…" Meridia didn't even hesitate. She simply paddled over to their boat, pulled herself up on the side, and grabbed a bag sitting between them.

The humans had plenty of time to get a good view of her while she searched for the breathing potion, and neither of them bothered to wonder why she was letting them. After finding the potion vials, Meridia popped one open and downed it in a single gulp. She grabbed another one out of the bag and tucked it behind her ear.

The fishermen were certain that they would die happy. Meridia was certain that they would die.

While leaning in to put back the bag, she made a show of slipping on the wet side boards and thrust out her hands to stop herself. One of them drove the raptor claw through the bottom of the boat, and retracted quickly as Meridia regained her composure. Neither human noticed the leak their vessel had sprung, so they both wondered why the night elf in disguise yelled "Enjoy!" as she dove back under the water.

* * *

"You…know about Green One," Commander Kirmytte accused Xan'Jin. Xan shook his head desperately. 

"He can't…talk, Commander," Sharkeye insisted. "See? No gills."

"If it breathes…we can interrogate it," Kirmytte retorted bluntly. "Get Crazy Eel…to fetch the blades."

"You'll just…end up killing him!"

"_Fetch_…the _blades_!"

Sharkeye floated listlessly for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "No. Not…this time."

Kirmytte sighed, a difficult thing to do underwater if you're not a murloc. "In that case...I'm decommissioning the MURK. You have…two and a half hours to pack up and leave."

"What?" Sharkeye burbled. "Then…what are you going to do if you need a medic?"

"We are Vile Fins! We'll…figure something out. I'm…sick of your pessimism."

Xan's hopes hit rock bottom. Sharkeye seemed to be the only murloc with any understanding of his need to breathe and the difficulties involved in talking underwater. As the white-coated Vile Fin swam off dejectedly, another one approached from the right. It wore a helmet that had 'Hatched to Kill' scratched on the front, and a peace sign dangling from its vest.

"Private Jester…sir. Crazy Eel…accidentally stabbed himself," the Vile Fin informed Kirmytte. The commander growled, producing a wave of bubbles from his wide mouth.

"Send him…to medical," he ordered Jester.

"Uh…" Jester turned around to see Sharkeye glumly arranging rocks in the formation of the words 'SCREW YOU.'

"Right," Kirmytte realized. "Tell him…to tough it out. Oh, and…fetch the blades."

What frustrated Xan more than anything else was that, by this point, he was willing to tell them everything he knew about Granik. If only he could talk…

* * *

Private Jester cruised by a pair of perimeter guards on his way to the armory, and noted dully that they weren't paying much attention to the surrounding waters. However, it was Jester's nature to be apathetic, so he continued on. 

"Hey…the other day, I went up to my girlfriend, I said, 'Y'know, I'd like a little egg sac.' She said…'Me too, mine's as big as a house!'" One of the guards said. The other burst into laughter.

"Yeah…If I'm gonna die for a word, my word is GLAARGLAGLARGLE – "

The first guard stared wistfully into the abyss as his partner squirmed on a massive raptor claw jutting out of his chest.

"Not a…bad choice," he conceded, before he was quietly stabbed in the eye. Several minutes later, Private Jester was swimming back to the prisoner's cage when he saw a pair of dead perimeter guards floating slowly to the surface. It was in Jester's nature to be apathetic, so he continued on.

* * *

While Xan floated in his cage, Kirmytte did nothing but stare at him. It was unnerving, especially since each of his eyes were almost as big as Xan's entire head. Shortly, Private Jester returned with a handful of knives. Kirmytte finally looked away from the troll rogue and now glared at Jester. 

"You've got…"Hatched to Kill" on your helmet and you wear a peace button. Explain…to me why you've been doing that."

"I was…trying to suggest something about the duality of murlocs, sir."

Kirmytte tried to formulate a response, but the glint of the knives caught his attention and he forgot about Jester. Pushing the private aside and grabbing two blades as they began to float away, Kirmytte swam back to Xan's cage.

_Don' even tink about stabbin' me wit dem…_Xan began to telepathically threaten him, but he stopped as a bluish-purple form darted past. Moments later, blood plumed from Private Jester's neck, and the murloc started rising to the surface. Kirmytte spun around in time to bring up one of his knives to block the incoming blow. It was, as Xan hoped, Meridia, and she was wielding a raptor claw in one hand and one of Jester's knives in the other.

Kirmytte kicked off and stopped several feet back, his blades at the ready.

"You scared?" Meridia taunted, the underwater breathing potion creating a small pocket of air around her mouth. "Well, you should be, because this night elf is going to kick your bug-eyed ass."

"I…eat night elves for breakfast," Kirmytte returned. "And…right now, I'm very hungry."

As confidant as Meridia wanted to seem, she was a little unsure of herself in an underwater duel. It was easy enough sneaking around and stabbing the unwary guards, but now she was actually _fighting_ one of them. This thing wielded its first blade underwater, probably had its first knife fight underwater. Despite all the training seminars and classes, Meridia had never really put any of her knowledge to the test until now.

Kirmytte lunged, stabbing at Meridia's face. She instinctively tried to parry it like she would on dry land, only to realize that she was moving in slow motion. She still managed to twist out of the way, but his knife scraped across her collarbone in the process.

As she pushed away, she jabbed backward with the raptor claw. Kirmytte's momentum had carried him past her, and the blow sunk into his back.

"Mmh mm mmph!" Xan cheered. It was at this time that the cage guard returned from warming the nearby waters and saw his commanding officer engaged in a knife fight.

Realizing that she must have fought through several of his comrades to get to the prisoner, the guard smartly concluded that she would kill him in a single blow if he got anywhere near. The obvious course of action was to sound the alarm and bring the full fury of the Vile Fins crashing down on her like a tidal wave, but that had its own set of complications.

For starters, the troll in the cage was choking him.

He had untied the rope keeping him lashed to the bubbling cracks, and squeezed it around the guard's neck while he was distracted by Meridia. Xan pulled the murloc up against the side of the cage, which was no longer full of wonderful life-giving bubbles as he had drifted away too far. Holding the rope tight with one hand, he reached for the Vile Fin's key ring on his crocolisk hide belt. The murloc began jabbing him with the butt end of his spear, and all the activity started to turn the cage sideways.

Meridia's strike with the raptor claw had been less effective than she had hoped for. Kirmytte fought with increased ferocity, despite the curved bone stuck in his back, and she only had one knife to defend herself with. It seemed the best course of action would be to search for some kind of glaring environmental hazard and then lure him into it. A wall made of spikes would have been perfect, but as it stood there were only the ruins rising up around them.

She would have to make do. Kicking off, she swam for the nearest stone effigy. It was a massive tablet, and Meridia actually recognized it from her studies on troll history. It was the tale of Gri'Lek, surviving only in drawings and stories after it sank with an ancient troll city into the Savage Coast.

Sensing that Kirmytte was closing fast, she juked sideways and the overzealous murloc flew into the tablet. Cringing as cracks shot up the legendary tablet, rearranging a few of the hieroglyphics into some new and amusing phrases, Meridia wasted no time in stabbing her remaining dagger through the back of Kirmytte's head and into the stone.

"Stick around," she murmured defiantly. The murloc flailed, pinned to the tablet, and died with a gurgle of air. Quickly, she looked back to see if Xan had heard her clever one-liner, only to find that his cage was slowly careening off the continental shelf. She made a note to come back and retrieve as much of the tablet as she could whilst she sped to Xan's rescue.

He couldn't believe that the murloc guard was still alive, nor that he had the strength to continue poking him with the spear. His ribs were starting to bruise, and the rope was fraying on the Vile Fin's hard scales. Not to mention Xan was running out of breath, and he began to wonder who would asphyxiate first.

Then came Meridia, who snapped the guard's neck with incredible ease and ripped the key ring from his belt. Xan's face was turning purple as she unlocked the door, pulled out a vial from behind her ear, and nearly shoved it down his throat.

"Drink," she ordered, but the vial was already halfway empty. When it was completely empty and Xan had finished gulping for air, she grabbed his hand and led him back to the ruins.

"How'd joo know where ta find me?" he asked.

"I knew you'd been captured by something, because that's what always happens, and from there it was just a matter of following the footprints."

"Undawater?"

"I had to ask for directions."

"Neva woulda tought o' dat."

_Then it's a good thing they didn't capture _me, she thought. They had arrived back at the tablet, and Meridia felt around the cracks caused by Kirmytte's headbutt for the weakest point. When she had found a sizeable chunk, she ripped it out of the stone and tucked it under her arm.

"Why joo stoppin' for a souvenir?" Xan prodded worriedly. It wouldn't take the Vile Fins long to notice all the dead bodies floating to the surface, and from then it would take even less time for them to trace it back to Meridia.

"It's a very important souvenir," she explained. "You mean you don't recognize it? This is part of troll history."

"Ja. History. I got too much ta worry 'bout in da present."

"Well, this is the best I can do. It'd take too long to carve out a bigger piece." She felt Xan's exasperation. "Okay, if it makes you feel any better, we're gonna sell this for a ton of money."

"_Dat's _what I was waitin' for."

Not wanting to waste any more time, she pushed off of the ocean floor and dragged Xan toward the glimmering waves above. When they broke the surface, Meridia tossed her hair back – a bit more glamorously this time. She and Xan paddled in the water for a brief moment, staring at each other in rapture.

They say (and by 'they' it's of course meant the kind of people that are trying to sell you something, like a vacation package) that Stranglethorn Vale is the most romantic place on Azeroth. They never add "If you can survive for more than five minutes," and for good reason. They would never sell any vacation packages that way.

Still, they're right on the mark as far as romance goes. Xan and Meridia, both naked and glistening in the setting sun, were almost yanked together as if by a magnet. Their lips locked, and their tusks stopped just short of seriously brutalizing each other. It was a move so complicated, it would take an entire Kama Sutra volume to describe, and it was an absolute miracle that they managed it at all.

Both of them understood this, and the kiss lingered as long as they could hold it. When it was finally over, they tried to pull away, but found themselves stuck on each other's tusks.

"What da hell…?" Xan murmured, jerking back to no avail.

"How did we manage _that_?" Meridia mused. After another moment of silence, they decided to make the best of their predicament and returned to kissing. Being the more coherent of the two, Meridia started slowly paddling toward the shore in the middle of their embrace. If they remained above deep water, they would surely be eaten or captured by murlocs.

The only thing that occupied Xan's mind besides Meridia was the thought of Argam, all alone in the jungle. It was getting dark, too…

**End**

**AN: I promise there'll be more of Marek and the triumphant return of Argam Stonehoof in the next chapter. There were quite a few references in this one, from MASH, to Commando, to Predator, to Full Metal Jacket. See if you can spot them all!**


	33. Excavation

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 33 – Excavation**

By Genoscythe

"I don't believe you know where you're going, old boy," Captain Percy Dustbeard sniffed, ducking under a carnivorous vine as the energetic young Horde soldier led him through yet another identical patch of underbrush. Last night, the tauren had stumbled into Hemet Nesingwary's campsite, screaming about a secret cave that he had discovered, and that he had contracted malaria. Barnil Stonepot checked him out, and concluded that he was just stark raving mad.

Nesignwary, in his unusually broad sense of generosity, allowed the Horde soldier to rest through the night and show them what he had found in the morning. But because Barnil had already decided that the tauren was insane, and the dwarves knew all of Stranglethorn's ruins had been thoroughly explored, only Dustbeard was sent along, in order to humor the poor lad.

They had not anticipated the young tauren to drag Dustbeard across Stranglethorn _all day long_.

"Of course I know where we're going," Argam Stonehoof assured his (by this time) unwilling companion. As if to prove this assertion, he snorted a large gust of air and pawed the ground with his hooves. Xan'Jin's hat tipped precariously on his uneven head, and Argam had to stop its descent. He found it under a tree near the beach, and had to fight a murloc to get it back. Since Xan was still hiding from him, Argam wore it in order to keep it from getting crushed in his backpack.

"It's just that…we've been at it since morning, old chap. Perhaps we ought to rest a spell." Captain Dustbeard adjusted the tan, conical hat on his bushy head – an invention he called a spliff helmet, specifically designed to protect from all manner of jungle hazards. However, several natives had attempted to light it on fire during one of Dustbeard's diplomatic missions, and he still couldn't figure out why.

"We're almost there. You can rest then."

"Yes, but how do you _know_ we're almost – " Dustbeard went silent as they emerged into a small clearing. Before them, a small stone arch rose out of the ground, gaping and beckoning. Dustbeard's mounting excitement quickly crashed down as he moved for a closer inspection. "Look, old bean, there's no cobwebs. Someone's been through this place already…" He then saw a small picket sign jammed into the dirt at the entrance to the ruins. It displayed a series of Dwarven runes arranged in a code used by Nesingwary's expedition. The code read 'We went to the end of these ruins and all we got was some crappy idol!'

"And that someone is us! You've led me to one of our own dig sites, old sport!"

"Huh?" Argam turned around, nearly knocking off Dustbeard's spliff helmet in the process. "I wasn't talking about that thing. It's right here."

At first, the dwarf explorer couldn't see what Argam was talking about. Then, he realized it was because that was all he could see. A big, black space stretched out past his peripheral vision. The entrance to the cave was so massive that trees had grown inside of it, making it appear to be more jungle. However, when he backed up and circled around the clearing, he could see where the entrance ended and the side of a mountain began.

Nesingwary's expedition had no doubt missed the cave because they were too excited about the smaller, more obvious ruins to inspect any further. There was probably a good analogy for that, but Captain Dustbeard was too dumbfounded to think of it.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Argam asked.

"Yes…yes, quite."

"High five?" Argam raised a meaty hand, and Dustbeard immediately recoiled. The dwarf stared, terrified, at Argam's palm as if it were a deadly weapon. It was, but Argam's ignorance and carefree attitude made some people forget about that until it was too late. "Okay, maybe not. What _is _this thing, short man?"

Without speaking, Dustbeard brushed past the tauren and moved into the cave. Once he got past the foliage growing at the mouth of the tunnel, he found that it was almost entirely sealed by cobwebs.

"This thing, I believe, is an ancient troll ruin," the dwarf exclaimed, pulling out a torch from his backpack in anticipation. "It has gone undiscovered for a very long time, unless I am mistak – _what are you doing_?" Argam, growing tired of Dustbeard's analysis, had pushed him out of the way and lumbered straight into a thick membrane of cobweb. It didn't break, but neither did Argam slow down. "You'll damage the artifacts! We need to excavate these ruins carefully."

Argam finally stopped and turned around, effectively wrapping himself in cobwebs. "But that's _boring_. Anyway, since I found it first, this cave or ruin or whatever is mine…right?"

"I suppose…"

"So I'll do what I want with it, which is to wander around aimlessly and look at all the shiny things."

"We've got museums for that sort of thing."

"None that I'm allowed to go to."

Before Dustbeard could continue, Argam let out a thunderous sneeze. The entire cave reverberated with the sound, and a cloud of cobwebs drifted to the floor.

"Too late to be careful now," Argam pointed out, trudging down the tunnel once more to protests from Dustbeard. They soon turned a corner, and Argam let out a bloodcurdling scream. Dustbeard dove for cover, plugging his ears as Argam only seemed to get louder. Risking a glance back around the corner, he saw the tauren yelling into the face of a giant stone effigy. Almost as if a switch was hit somewhere in Argam's brain, the tauren stopped screaming and said "Hey look, a statue."

Dustbeard stumbled forward, still dazed from the racket. He quickened his stumbling when he caught sight of the statue Argam had been screaming at.

"Do you recognize this effigy, old man? This is a statue of the troll's serpent god, Hakkar!"

"I'm not old, and I'm not a man. For that matter, I'm not a bean, or a sport, or a chap, or a boy," Argam corrected him succinctly.

Dustbeard sputtered helplessly as he attempted to form his next sentence without using any of his favorite generic nouns. Finally he managed to say "Well, do you know what this means, young…tauren?"

"Obviously not," Argam huffed, blowing dust from the statue in awe-inspiring gouts. "Because it's made of rocks."

"So?"

"So it doesn't _shine_. Nothing shines in Mulgore, but we've got rocks up our tail-pipes. I'm sick of them."

"This isn't just any – "

"_I_ _don't want rocks_," Argam stomped past the pair of serpent statues, passing carelessly under the archway before them. Dustbeard tried to take in as much detail of the shrine as he could before Argam disappeared into the tunnel, but that wasn't long. Argam moved forward with unusual determination, considering his goal was so ill-defined. It drove Dustbeard mad, but he could live with it as long as the tauren went first and saved him the trouble of excavating the nearest trap.

The next corridor was small, and a strong draft blew through every few seconds. Argam seemed to have developed a strange habit of bounding forward on one foot and grunting periodically.

"What are you doing, average-aged thing?" Dustbeard inquired as a gust struck him in the face and Argam groaned.

"I saw these patterns on some of the stones down there," he replied, pointing to several protruding rocks with diamonds etched on the face. "I'm playing a game where I can only step on the marked floor panels. Ouch."

When Argam turned to speak, Dustbeard was able to see his side and chest. They were riddled with small darts.

"See?" Argam jumped forward, landing on the next etched stone. A puff of dust emerged from the wall, and a small arrow sunk into the tauren's gigantic bicep.

"Great Bronzebeard's hammer! I can't believe you're still alive!"

"Why?" Argam asked as he hopped onto another panel. The dwarf explorer followed, weaving around the traps.

"Well, I can only assume those darts are poisonous!"

"What darts? Ow."

"Those darts! They shoot out of the walls every time you step on one of those panels!"

Argam stopped for a moment and considered this. In order to keep himself from falling over, he ended up hopping up and down on the same stone, causing a torrent of darts to stick into his thighs. Finally, he came to his conclusion. "You're just trying to make me lose, aren't you?"

"No! Stop that! I need you alive to shield me from – ah, to help me discover shiny objects!"

Argam shook his head. "Nope. I think you're just jealous of my winning streak."

Dustbeard realized it was hopeless, but if the tauren hadn't succumbed to the darts by now, then he probably never would. They were almost out of the corridor anyway.

"You know, you're right. I let my jealousy get the better of me. Now please keep moving, you're blocking the way."

Argam shrugged and hopped to the next stone, Dustbeard hiding in his shadow. They continued through the hallway until it abruptly terminated into an upward dirt slope. Vines and roots grabbed at Argam's fur as they moved forward, but he paid them no heed. Out of anxiety, Dustbeard began plucking the darts from the tauren's hide.

Abruptly, Argam pitched forward onto the ground. It was only after Dustbeard fell on top of him that he realized the floor had opened up beneath them, and Argam happened to be tall enough to bridge the gap it created. His hooves dug into the ledge on one side, and his snout was buried in the dirt on the other.

"Good show, old…young…oh, bollocks."

"ank oo," Argam grunted, his nostrils clogged with mud.

"I learned this accent from a ruddy human, fat lot of good it's done me…" the dwarf mumbled, getting to his feet and walking across the muscle-bound bridge. Once he was safe, Argam grabbed the edge and swung his hooves into the pit, pulling himself up on the opposite side.

Dustbeard, forgetting the position he was in, had continued in front of Argam. As the tauren caught up to him, he noticed a very low-hanging vine stretching downward toward the dwarf's funny-shaped helmet. The vine hissed, and snapped at the hat. Dustbeard cried out in surprise, careening back into Argam's chest.

"Snakes!" Argam exclaimed happily. "I love snakes!" He reached out a tree trunk arm to stroke the reptile's head, which promptly lashed at his finger. The fangs caught in his skin, hanging on but failing to actually puncture it. The snake might as well have been trying to chew on dragon jerky.

Argam grabbed the snake's body as gently as he could manage and slung it over his shoulders. The creature shook his finger about violently, but to no effect.

"I'm gonna name you Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, and I'm gonna teach you how to protect me from mongooses," he informed his new pet. The snake released his finger, only to bite down on his wrist. Argam ignored Rikki-Tikki's silly games and turned around to show Dustbeard. The dwarf explorer was pale, and sweat glinted off his face in the torchlight.

"This is even better than shiny objects. Check out my awesome snake, short man!"

Dustbeard cracked, stumbling back down the corridor and leaping wildly over the hole in the floor. Argam peered at the darkness ahead of him as Rikki-Tikki-Tavi gnawed on his massive bicep.

"Well, nothing shines in the dark…" he mused. "Hey, short man! Come back! I need that torch!" He barreled down the cave after him, stopping only to trip on the hole and pull himself across it. The glow of the torch could be seen shining out of the windy stone passageway, and Argam bounded for it happily.

He ground to a halt when he saw that Dustbeard wasn't moving. He simply stood motionless, with his back to Argam, in the center of the corridor.

"Short man?" Argam called out to him. Dustbeard fell over, his chest and arms riddled with small darts. This did not register with Argam. "Okay, you're tired. Look, you can sleep if you want. I just need your torch to see things with."

He stepped forward daintily, reaching for the torch rolling across the floor.

In doing so, he stepped on a marked stone panel.

A puff of air snuffed out the torch's light, and caused his snake to hiss quietly.

"Great," he muttered as Rikki-Tikki-Tavi slumped over his shoulders with a dart sticking out of its head. "I guess I'll have to find Xan and get him to bring some torches. Are you ready to meet my friends, Rikki-Tikki?"

"You're a moron," the voice of Itherian Stonehoof growled from the bowels of the dead snake. "But this accidental discovery may fund our continued existence, if there really _are _any 'shiny objects' in this forsaken place."

"So I did good?" Argam asked the snake.

"In a roundabout way, I suppose you did," Itherian replied bitterly. "Although it is quite difficult to detoxify your body every time you step on one of those damn panels. You're lucky that it's simple magic, or I wouldn't be able to do it in my spirit form."

"Where do you think Xan is?"

"If he's still alive, he will either be in the hands of the Vile Fin murlocs or safely back at Grom'Gol. Considering he is in the company of the elf, and she seems a great deal more competent than you or him, he may have already escaped them."

"It's 'you or he'," Argam pointed out.

The dead snake's jaw almost seemed to hang open wider, but this was probably an optical illusion. "No, dumbass, it's 'you or him'. The day you can correct me on grammar…"

"I'm pretty sure it's you or he."

"Well, we've already established how intelligent you are when you started playing hopscotch on the goddamned traps."

"Hey, I'm right sometimes. Let's ask somebody."

"Let's not. I know I'm right. I'm several hundred years old, and I was a genius even before that."

"I'm gonna ask somebody."

* * *

Marek Belheim blinked, which was unnecessary because he didn't actually have eyelids at the moment. On any official plane of existence, Marek Belheim was dead. Not quite dead, but…erased. However, on the only plane of existence that now mattered, his soul was still alive and kicking. 

"Where am I, and am I still pretty?" he grunted, swaying to his feet. It occurred to him that he was standing on nothing – merely a solid point in an unending black void.

**You are in my crib now…** the phallic tree's voice boomed. **And you were never pretty.**

Marek started wailing immediately.

**Oh hell. Even Arthas did not cry as easily as you do. Okay, you are still pretty.**

"Hey, thanks," he said, smoothing back his hair and simultaneously wiping the tears from his face. "Who are you, again?"

**I am the source of the Paladins' magic. The Light, if you will.**

"Then why is it dark?" Marek asked.

The black void flickered, and became a white void.

**That better?**

"Yeah…I think so."

**I am a banished Eredar, sent to languish in this unholy realm for being too hip. Also, I saved a burning baby carriage full of kittens from falling down some stairs.**

"Well, I'm convinced," Marek shrugged. "That sounds like something the Light would do."

**I have chosen special warriors among the Paladins to be my champions. As you already know, Arthas was the first. I am hoping you will be next.**

"I guess so," Marek replied. "Don't really have anything else going on. Oh, except getting revenge on that stupid troll for cutting my face and making me almost get executed."

**Perfect. I can help you with that.**

"Really? Where are you?"

**Uh…I cannot come out right now. I…have a cold, and…I do not want you to catch it. Immortal beings get some badass colds.**

"Okay, okay. How are you gonna help me?"

**First, I will give you some of my power. You will be able to cast magic that I do not allow normal Paladins to use. Second, I will guide you on your path to vengeance, and point out any other targets that must be eliminated on the way. Specifically, anything that impedes my return to the physical realm.**

"I didn't understand any of that," Marek confessed. "But you _will _help me, right?"

**Sure, whatever.**

"Great. Juice me up!" Marek pumped his fist in the air, and the Eredar calling itself the Light sighed. Moments later, hot energy poured through Marek's veins, and before he could celebrate, he was ripped out of the Light's dimension and sent back to Azeroth.

When Marek's newly-materialized body awoke, he found himself in another creepy forest. It was not the one that he departed from, but it looked similar enough. This forest was more blue and shadowy, whereas the last one was full of decay and an unpleasant mist.

**I am hooked up to all dark, creepy forests, **the Light's voice resounded across the clearing. **I can transport you to any of them, if you want.**

"No, this one's fine," Marek replied aloud. He soon heard voices in the underbrush, possibly orcish from their guttural quality. The Paladin flexed, hoping to test his new abilities, whatever they might be, on the approaching Horde soldiers.

However, he was not prepared for the Forsaken that lunged from the bushes, swinging his sword and cleaving Marek's warhammer in two at the shaft.

"Beat it, chump. I don't have all day to kill you," Melchiah seethed.

"H-huh?" Marek sputtered, forgetting all about his powers and dropping the weapon handle.

"You Paladins have more lives than a fucking _cat_, and I'm a little too busy to go through all of them with you right now. So leave me alone, and consider yourself lucky."

Marek did both of those things, scrambling through the underbrush with wild abandon.

**You are not off to a very good start, **the Light groaned. Marek was too frightened to reply.

* * *

"This is pointless. I was wrong. Let's go," Melchiah snapped, sheathing his sword as Zuridan and Granik timidly followed him into the clearing. 

"Are you sure?" Zuridan asked cautiously.

"We've been out here for almost two days, and there's no sign of Araj. I only thought to look here because of a hunch, and obviously I didn't know what I was talking about."

"Well, I don't think we should give up just yet!" Granik cried dramatically. "This has been a great experience so far!"

"What, you looting all the Alliance rookies we've killed?" Zuridan murmured.

"Yes! I am now half as powerful as I should be!" he flexed his muscles for effect, rippling the tiny chain mail shoulder pads that he had pilfered from a dead human. "Perhaps this hunch of yours is correct. In my time as an incredible warrior and hero to the Horde, I have discovered that instincts and intuition – and sometimes just random guesses – are more reliable than hard facts."

"Yeah, well your time as an incredible warrior and hero to the Horde was mostly spent being hypnotized and getting all your money swindled away," he responded darkly, pushing through the undergrowth and causing the plants to wither. With no choice left to them, Granik and Zuridan fell in behind him. They had not gone ten feet when Melchiah abruptly stopped.

"He's here," he whispered.

"Are you sure?" Zuridan hissed.

"Quiet, this is how intuition works," Granik told him.

"I can feel it in my bones…" Melchiah muttered, looking down at his forearm and watching a pulse of green light run across his exposed bone. He wheeled around, drawing his sword and creeping silently back toward the clearing.

_"Our numbers finally grow, my lord!" _a frosty voice cut the air. _"The original host outlasted us for a time, but either by accident or design, another has been cursed!"_

**Cool, **another voice, echoing and powerful, joined the first. **I, the Lich King, commend you for your efforts. Did you happen to find another copy of the Book?**

_"Not yet, sire. You told me the Book was the only one in existence."_

**Yeah, I remember saying that. Too bad. This whole 'molding the world to my desire' thing would go a lot faster if we did not have to rely on that stupid human to spread the curse.**

_"It is unavoidable. As I said, he has already infected another."_

**And that is all well and good, but seriously. How long did that take? Years. I do not have all eternity to become the master of this realm.**

_"The new host does not know as much as the human. It will most likely infect several others before it finds out."_

**Fine, fine. I appreciate the update, fellow lich. By the way, what are you doing in Duskwood?**

_"I was searching for a new copy of the Book, on your orders, and this was the nearest 'creepy forest' that you spoke of._

**Oh, okay. Be on your way then. Keep looking for that book, just in case. This is G'na – I mean the Lig – I mean the Lich King, signing off.**

Melchiah crept up to the clearing, peering over a bush at his quarry. Araj the Summoner towered over him, his ornate robes scraping against the lowest tree brances. He seemed to have a puzzled look on his skull, and he appeared to be talking into the ground.

This was his chance.

Melchiah burst into the clearing, leaping at Araj and thrusting out his sword. The lich reflexively shot a clawed hand toward the ground, and a wall of ice rose up before him. Melchiah's blade plunged into the ice, stopping at the hilt. Through the ice, he could see that the sword was inches away from Araj's glowing eye socket.

Growling in anger, he swung his sword down, shattering the wall of ice and sweeping it out of his way.

_"It is you!" _Araj cried, throwing shards of ice that Melchiah was forced to dodge. _"The original host!"_

"It's Melchiah!" he roared, knocking Araj's spells out of the way with his shield. Lunging again, he hit the lich squarely in the ribcage with his shield, and Araj glided into a tree.

_"I should have known you would come after me…"_ he grunted. _"But you have come in vain. Though I cannot kill you, I can certainly prevent you from killing me!"_ With that, the lich pressed his skeletal hands against the tree. Ice crawled up its trunk, eventually reaching the leaves and turning them into little deadly shards of hardened crystal.

Before Melchiah could do anything, a torrent of knife-like leaves slashed down at him, cutting what meager flesh he had from his bones and lodging in his armor. When the barrage was over and the tree was nothing more than a frozen trunk, Melchiah was almost as skeletal as the lich.

"I hunted you down this time," he growled. "I'll hunt you down again." As a last effort, he slashed at Araj. The lich blasted him with a constant stream of freezing energy, then smashed him like a glass window with the back of his hand.

Araj the Summoner gazed across the clearing, searching for more assailants. He was confident that Melchiah's curse had not earned him any friends since they had last met, so he disappeared through a dark portal before looking closely and seeing the two orcs huddled together behind a bush.

"We'd better find a spirit healer," Granik suggested.

Zuridan nodded, or perhaps he was trembling so much that it only looked like a nod. He finally knew what it was that had terrified him so badly in Silverpine Forest. It was undoubtedly Araj the Summoner. What Araj had done to him in that forest, he still couldn't recall, but all he cared about was that it had been terrifying enough to make him forget in the first place.

**End**


	34. Bad Moon Rising

**Voodoo Child**

**Chapter 34 – Bad Moon Rising**

By Genoscythe

**AN**: So, I've made deadlines for myself, and I nearly got through the first one on time! Every other week, I'll have a chapter done for Voodoo Child - or so I hope. This may not last if either school or work gets harder, but the winds are favorable right now. Well, not in real life. In real life, we've got wind going at hurricane speeds outside thanks to like 5 different wildfires and just plain bad weather.

On another note, I've never actually been to Westfall, and I think it shows in this chapter. I've decided to make my own version of it, one that's more of a Halloween-esque nightmare landscape of perpetual Fall. Maybe that's what Westfall is really like, but I can't possibly play a human character long enough to get there, and I haven't been subscribed to WoW for at least a year now anyway. So, as usual, allow me my creative indulgences, and we'll all get along happily. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Cygnus's friend was not waiting for them at the outskirts of Sentinel Hill, but only Hindrex and Dillon thought he would be. Cygnus knew better than to believe that the world revolved around him, mostly because he wasn't a musician.

"Where's this friend of yours?" Dillon asked as they trudged past the Sentinel Hill guards, who looked so thin and frail that their rattling limbs seemed ready to fly apart. Their condition appeared to be caused by a state of perpetual fear, as their wide-eyed stares could attest.

"Y-you ain't a harvest golem, is ye?" one of the guards mumbled.

"No, we are not," Cygnus replied.

"You ain't from the Brotherhood, is ye?"

"No."

"You ain't the things what been crawling through the wheat fields at night, is ye?"

Cygnus and the marines were no longer in earshot.

"You ain't the pumpkin creature that ate me mam, is ye?"

They made their own way to the church in the center of the outpost, which stood out as the newest and cleanest of the pitiful stone hovels. Before Cygnus had pushed open the wooden double doors, they heard angelic voices wafting serenely through the air.

Once inside the church, they could make out the words to their singing.

_"He…is…the…Painkiller. This…is…the…Painkiller," _the chorus sang. Hindrex and Dillon exchanged looks. Like everything else in the world, the lyrics broke like waves against Cygnus's resolve as he marched down the pews. Several weary marines were sitting in the aisles, heads bowed in reverence.

_"Wings…of…steel…Painkiller."_As the nave of the church became clearer, they could see the chorus – fourteen young men in choir robes standing before a wildly-gesturing man in black. His hand motions seemed to be like those of a conductor on hard drugs, but there was nothing to conduct but the singing.

_"Flying high on rapture…stronger, free and brave…"_

"Judas," Cygnus said by way of an introduction. The long-haired blonde man turned around while the choir continued piously.

_"Nevermore encaptured, they've been brought back from the grave."_

"Oh my Lord!" Judas cried, rushing forward to wrap Cygnus in a hug that he obviously did not enjoy. "It's been so long, my friend! I thought you were dead!"

"No, although why the universe has let a kind, sensible person such as myself survive for this long is anybody's guess."

The choir had stopped singing. Slowly, they began to inch away toward the back door.

"We aren't finished yet!" Judas called without looking back. "Start again, from Hell Patrol."

"You…uh, write your own hymns?" Hindrex asked.

"Oh yes," Judas replied excitedly. "I always wanted to be a bard, but you know – holiness runs in the family. Besides, I'm not sure the world is ready for my kind of music."

"Trust me, man. The world is always ready for new music," Hindrex told him.

"Is there anything more important we should be discussing right now?" Cygnus implied calmly.

Dillon looked around, as if searching for what Cygnus was talking about. "No, don't think so."

"Food and lodging. Do you think you could do that for us, Judas?"

The priest laughed. "If we had either of those things, I wouldn't have the choir boys double and triple-bunking. Well, maybe I would make them do it anyway. But that doesn't change the fact that we have no spare rooms."

"I thought this place was like a non-stop Halloween festival made real. Why don't we just wait for some monsters to kill off a few other marines and take their beds?" Dillon suggested.

"I suppose…but the harvest golems and other ghouls don't usually come up Sentinel Hill. They must feel uncomfortable outside of the wheat fields."

Hindrex raised an eyebrow. "So all we gotta do is get three guys to go into the fields?"

"If we were petty and self-absorbed, then yes," Cygnus answered gravely.

"Right," Dillon said with finality, and Hindrex nodded. Judas shrugged indifferently, massaging his temples. "But…how?"

* * *

The answer to their question came bolting through the foliage of Duskwood not far away. Stopping once to look back and forth between the dusty, sun-beaten farmlands he stood on and the lush, dark forest he had just emerged from, the bulky human made a beeline for the raised outpost on the horizon.

Marek Belheim didn't know much about geography, but he didn't think environments could change so abruptly. But he wouldn't mind if anybody proved him wrong, because being right about that sort of thing would make him look like a nerd anyway. Before he realized that he was rambling, there was a sharp biting sensation around his ankle. It didn't really hurt, him being a paladin and thus wearing enough armor to serve as a human cannonball and live.

However, it _was _slowing him down, and he wanted to get as far away from that terrifying Forsaken as he could. While he ran, he stomped on what he believed to be the thing on his leg. An unearthly screech echoed across the wheat fields, and something slithered off in the opposite direction.

Marek ran all the faster, now angling slightly upward. Sentinel Hill was approaching. Just as the wheat was starting to thin out, it began to stir up violently right on the paladin's heels. He glanced back, and was unable to tell whether it was a large creature or a pack of small creatures. A glimpse of unspeakable horror through the now-sparse wheat killed his curiosity, and he put his head down in an attempt to cut down on wind resistance.

Before he knew it, he had reached the summit of the hill, where three guards stood rattling in their armor. Without bothering to check if the abomination was still behind him, he grabbed the nearest marine.

"Don't take me, take him!" Marek cried, shoving the guard down the hill. He stumbled in disbelief, fell down the hill until a shadowy appendage snapped him up. His two friends had rushed to help, but now they were scrambling back up the hillside. Too late, as something else grabbed them almost faster than the eye could follow.

All three were pulled into the wheat fields, and their bodies – whether alive or dead – could be seen for miles rippling across the brown sea.

Marek, in his haste to get away from the Forsaken and from the wheat fields, crashed into an inert body standing amidst the town square. When he stepped back, he immediately recognized the gaping face.

"I should say something right now about providence…" Vismund Cygnus began in disbelief. "But I'm having trouble moving past the fact that you just killed three people you've never even seen before."

"Would it be better if I killed three people I _knew_?" Marek shot back, catching his breath. Despite Cygnus's shock, his two compatriots looked rather pleased with the outcome.

"What are you _doing_ here?" the priest asked him, shaken for the first time in recent memory. "Or maybe…how are you _still alive_?"

Marek jerked his thumb in the direction of the late sentries. "Survival instinct. Plus, I've got the Light on my side."

"I don't see how – "

"He told me so. I'm special. Like Arthas."

"Arthas was a genocidal traitor! He was turned from the Light!"

"Wait, which Light are we talking about?"

"The_only_ Light!"

"Uh, I don't think you know what you're talking about then. I saw the Light myself. He showed me where he lives and everything, 'cause I touched a tree that kinda looked like a guy's rod – "

"Hold on, back up!" Cygnus commanded. Then, thinking better of it, he shook his head. "No, nevermind. I don't want to hear that sentence ever again. Let's just…what are you doing here?"

"I told you, I touched the penis tree – "

"Skip ahead," Cygnus muttered.

"Hey, he was just getting to the good part!" Judas interjected. Cygnus silenced him with a glare.

"So he took me to this other dimension where he lives. He called it his 'crib' for some reason. Then he explained what he was and that he wanted me to be another one of his champions, just like Arthas."

"I'll argue that point when you're finished, but keep going."

"And then he gave me extra powers, ones he doesn't give to normal paladins. After that, he dropped me off in Duskwood and I got scared off by some Horde soldiers."

"Okay, so – "

"Did I say 'scared off'? I meant 'killed them all, and left of my own free will'."

"I'm sure. But Arthas was not a champion of the Light. He was possessed by the runeblade Frostmourne, and he has since spent his life taking orders from the voices in his head."

"Maybe…one of those voices was the Light?"

"I doubt it. But it sounds like you have been tricked by a demonic entity. How one could manage to pose as a philosophical connection between emotions and the universe is beyond me."

"Wait, we're still talking about the Light, right?"

_Something you will never understand, _Cygnus's voice rang out in Marek's head, causing him to jump back in shock. Abruptly, Cygnus turned to Judas. "Where were those guards staying before they came to their untimely but convenient end?"

"I think they were sleeping in the butcher's shop," the priest answered. Hindrex and Dillon groaned. "Well, since there's now four of you, I guess Mr. Marek will have to stay in my chambers tonight." Marek paled, looking between the three marines for an innocent explanation to this cruel turn of events. Despite himself, Cygnus found a smile dawning on his face.

"Wait, you've got room at _your_ place?" Dillon interjected. "And you were gonna turn us back?"

"Well, I'm a clergyman. If I don't have perks, then what _do_I have?"

"Hopefully two separate beds," Marek intoned nervously. Judas laughed heartily, pushing the paladin toward the chapel.

"Tell me more about this tree…" he could be heard asking as they faded into the distance. The Stormwind marines were left watching the fields undulate in the wind, pondering their present situation and why Marek didn't just opt to sleep outside. Just beyond their field of perception, mounds of hay and metal shifted slowly across the plains, trailing a black cloud of crows.

* * *

At that very moment, Xan'Jin was in a good place. To be more exact, he was nestled in the arms of Meridia Darkwater, and they were both wrapped up in a bearskin rug that the Grom'Gol tower innkeeper had been gracious enough to lend them. He was able to pass off Meridia's glowing eyes as a strange – if somewhat amusing – disease that made trolls glow in the dark. It wasn't known to be contagious, and yes, she's going to be fine, thank you, but you'd better keep your distance just in case.

With this routine, Xan had managed to drum up an extra note of sympathy as well as a means of preventing people from looking too closely at Meridia. He also scored the rug by looking extra pathetic while trudging up to the zeppelin tower/makeshift inn. Overall, Meridia was impressed with his ability to get everyone's support while simultaneously keeping a low profile. She just wished he didn't have to press mud into their hair before presenting their naked and bedraggled selves to Innkeeper Thulbek.

Xan was satisfied that he had not turned out to be completely useless after Meridia practically had to carry him out of the Vile Fins' stronghold. However, all wonderful things aside, he was unable to fall asleep like Meridia had. The head of the bear rug had fallen over hers, and it stared blankly at him as he tried to drift off. It was worse when he shut his eyes, because then it felt like the rug was about to come to life and eat his face.

He couldn't move it, for fear of waking Meridia. It also masked her night elf features fairly well, but that hardly made up for the fact that it was going to give Xan nightmares if he ever managed to fall asleep. Releasing one arm from Meridia's waist, he grabbed one of the rug's paws and draped it over his head so the bear's head was no longer hanging in view.

Xan's eyelids were just about to blink shut for the final time when the familiar sound of confused shouting reached his ears. He opened his eyes and removed the bear paw just as a gigantic hand clamped down on his shoulder and pulled him out of the rug entirely.

"There you are, Xan!" Argam Stonehoof cried triumphantly, holding him up in the air so that they were staring face to face. Xan noted with surprise that Argam was wearing his pirate hat, and – more importantly – had a dead snake draped around his shoulders.

"Where da hell joo been, mon?" Xan exclaimed, but Argam merely shook him to keep him quiet.

"Okay, this has been bugging me for a while now. In a sentence, when are you supposed to say 'you or he' and when are you supposed to say 'you or him'?"

"I neva been able to answer any o' ya questions, mon. Not even da easy ones, like 'when we gonna eat?'. Why joo tinkin' I know dis one?"

"I thought I would try…" Argam replied sullenly.

"Wha'choo doin' wit my hat, anyway?" Xan snapped, reaching out and grabbing it by the brim.

"It was lying on the beach, and some murlocs were gonna take it into the ocean with them. I didn't want it to get wet, so I stole it and kept it safe on my head." Argam's voice now had an air of dejection, and his huge downcast eyes plucked at Xan's heartstrings.

"Sorry, mon. I was jus' in a good place, an' you come an' pick me up like dat…"

"What the hell is going on?" Meridia groaned from below, now completely submerged in the rug.

"I found Argam," Xan called to her.

"Why are you wearing a bear?" Argam asked sincerely.

"Vile Fins took our clothes," she explained, getting up and wrapping the fur around her. The bear's head bobbed comically at her shoulder as she reached for a piece of stone tablet on the ground. "We were going to sell this priceless chunk of troll heritage and buy some new ones, but we were too tired last night."

Xan translated quickly, but Argam was losing interest.

"Oh yeah, and there's these unexplored ruins in the jungle full of snakes, treasure, and a dead dwarf. I wanted to find you guys so we could go back with torches and sacks."

"Sacks?" Xan repeated.

"For all the shiny objects," Argam clarified. "Where are Zuridan and Melchiah?"

"Dunno, mon. We should probly wait for – " Xan was cut off as Argam slung him over his shoulder and began trudging out of the inn.

"Adventures don't wait," he said matter-of-factly.

Xan coughed, trying to move air back into his crushed lungs. Meridia found it difficult to try and stop Argam, since she could barely speak orcish and she didn't think there was any physical way to go about it. The best she could do was trot beside him as he lumbered across the open encampment.

"Clothes…mon. We need…clothes…" Xan sputtered.

"You don't need clothes to go on an adventure!" Argam retaliated. Meridia got an idea, moving ahead of the tauren and up to the guards at the gate. They instinctively jolted backward, not wanting to catch her luminescent disease.

"Could you please keep that tauren from leaving?" she asked. The troll guards glanced incredulously at the mountainous Argam.

"We give it a shot, womon. No promises, 'kay?" In unison, they lowered their axes in front of the gate. Argam paid them no mind, pushing through them and causing the curved blades to hook around his calves. The guards, both shocked and terrified, were pulled off their feet and across the ground before finding the sense to let go of their axes.

Meridia hung her head and continued to follow Argam through the jungle, knowing he would eventually hit a river and be unable to proceed.

"So…what are the odds that he's actually found undiscovered ruins full of treasure?" she asked Xan, who dangled over Argam's shoulder.

"Not good," he conceded. "But joo can' tell wit Argam. I be wonderin' what he was sayin' bout a dead dwarf."

"Maybe a new friend for him to talk to?" Meridia said with a grin.

"Joo be getting' used ta us nut jobs," Xan pointed out.

"It's easy. I just have to pretend you're normal, and everyone else is crazy."

Just as she predicted, Argam was soon stopped by a winding river. It was neither wide nor deep, but the limited intelligence that Argam had at his disposal did not notice either of these things. All he could tell was that there was water, and he was a bad swimmer. He simply stood at the shore and snorted fitfully, gazing at the other side a few feet away from him.

Meridia stood at his side, still wrapped in a bearskin rug and looking thoughtfully into the distance.

"We should really go back. Maybe buy some clothes and weapons. Some exploration tools if you think he's serious about these ruins."

Xan translated to Argam, and asked if he was serious about those ruins.

"Of course I'm serious. I'm _always_ serious," Argam answered, visibly ruffled. Xan grimaced.

"Dat kinda makes it worse when joo do tings like talk to dead animals, mon."

Argam grunted. "Only when they talk back," he said sourly.

"Turn around, mon. We go to ya ruins, jus' as soon as we buy some stuff. An' we betta wait for Mel an' Z."

"Oh yeah," Argam mused as he slowly pivoted on his hooves. "What ever happened to those guys?"

* * *

"What the hell are we gonna do?" Zuridan croaked. "Did you see what happened to Melchiah? We're never gonna kill this Lich if he's_that _strong."

"Quiet," Granik muttered, sniffing the air loudly. "Smells like brimstone. And a little bit like Mama Ga'nesh's Kodo pies."

Zuridan smelled it too. The forest had been silent ever since Araj the Summoner had spoken with his unholy consort, but now a soft pitter-patter sounded in the distance. Neither orc moved since their Forsaken ally had been blasted into a fine powder, but now they felt inclined to get away from the tainted clearing.

"I know that smell," Zuridan growled as he began to inch away from the open ground.

"You grew up at an orphanage, too?" Granik asked.

"No. This is worse than Kodo pies."

"If that's the case, I don't want to find out what's worse than something that makes you instinctively vomit every time you even think of eating."

Zuridan raised a dark eyebrow.

"Well, it made starvation a whole lot more fun."

"We should get out of here. My pets have found me."

"Oh yeah, I noticed you weren't using any – " Granik was cut off as a green bolt of fire sailed over his head, and an insane chattering filled the darkness.

"Meet Zorqua, my imp," Zuridan murmured dryly. "Be glad I haven't made any soul shards lately, or you would get to see the whole gang." He poked his head above the leaves, searching for a bright emerald flame. Instead, he found an inky blackness closing over his face. Helmon lifted Zuridan out of the bushes and hurled him into the clearing, where he rolled over a poorly-drawn picture of a phallus scratched in the dirt.

"How…" Zuridan spoke mostly to himself, staring at his voidwalker across the clearing. Granik was sneaking up behind it, raising his axe. Suddenly, a whip snapped out of the darkness and coiled around the big orc's throat.

Sek'Shi wrangled Granik to his knees, pressing a demonic high heel into his spine and knocking him over.

"You've gotta be kidding…" Zuridan groaned, throwing out a blast of shadow that dissipated on contact with the advancing voidwalker. Granik was turning an interesting shade of green, clawing at the whip and attempting to get to his feet only to be pushed back down. Zorqua still hid in the forest, sending a random fireball every now and then. He seemed to be screeching orders to the other two, and though Zuridan's imminent doom was staring him directly in the face, he couldn't help but wonder if a demon could use other people's soul shards to summon its own minions.

Abruptly, Sek'Shi screamed and fell apart in two halves.

"Fuck you," a familiar voice growled. Melchiah stormed out of the forest, passing Helmon and cleaving him in half as well. "Fuck _you_…" He turned, looking directly at the imp quivering on the ground across the clearing. It began to run away, but Melchiah tossed his sword in the air underhanded. The blade spun in a pinwheel, and the Forsaken pointed downward at the retreating demon.

The sword snapped taut, like an arrow, and sailed straight through the back of the imp's head. With his hand outstretched, the soulbound weapon appeared back in Melchiah's claw.

"Fuck_you_, too," he spat. For the first time, the Forsaken glanced at Zuridan and Granik. "Thanks for helping me take on the Lich. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Hey, that's easy for you to say. If we die, there's no coming back," Zuridan pointed out.

"You think I want to come back?!" Melchiah shot back. "I was hoping that, somehow, this time would be different."

"We wouldn't have done any good, not yet. He's too tough for us."

"Speak for yourself, skinny," Granik puffed, absently rubbing his neck. "I was too busy doing push-ups to fight the Lich with you. Just give me more warning next time."

Zuridan's boot caught on a scratch dug into the ground, and he looked down. It was the phallic symbol he had noticed while being thrown through the air.

"Does this mean anything to you?" Zuridan asked the others. They all stared at it for a total of three seconds.

"Some local teenager thinks he has a sense of humor. Big deal," Melchiah scoffed.

"But look at it. The dirt around it never fills in. Leaves won't cover it. Maybe it's a magical rune."

"If that's true, then my desk at school was covered in magical runes," Melchiah said.

"Well, the Lich was talking toward the ground, wasn't he?" Zuridan asked.

"I was focusing more on putting all my blind hatred to good use," Melchiah replied.

"No, he's right," Granik interjected. "I remember that. Maybe _we_should try talking into the ground?"

**Hey, shut up! **A deep, rumbling voice boomed from the 'magical rune'. **If you are not one of my paladins or one of my Liches, then go the hell away! Can an inter-dimensional fiend not get a little bit of peace and quiet around here?**

All three Horde soldiers looked at each other in turn. Then, deciding that Zuridan was – against all logic – their representative to the demonic entity.

"Uh, excuse me…Inter-dimensional Fiend. What are you?"

**I said go away! I seriously do not want to bother with anybody else today. All my pawns are failures, and now some assholes found one of my markers.**

"We don't want to go away," Melchiah interrupted. "Are you responsible for giving Araj that book with the curse in it?"

**I could call him right back if a beat-down is what you are looking for.**

"Maybe we should leave it alone," Zuridan suggested. "I don't really want to watch you get killed by that Lich again."

**Then you had better hurry, because he is on his way.**

Melchiah roared, kicking dirt across the symbol and making no visible impact on it.Zuridan and Granik were already running away, and Melchiah unwillingly followed them.

"We should head back to Grom'Gol," Zuridan said as they rushed through the dark forest. "Regroup with Xan. I'm sure they're having more luck than we are." At one point, the orc had to leap over a robed corpse on the ground riddled with green scorch-marks. Nearby, a bag designed to hold soul shards lay empty and deflated. Zuridan swore under his breath, realizing that now all of his minions could attack him whenever they wanted, as long as there was a soul shard nearby.

He tried to push thoughts of Araj the Summoner out of his head, but they persisted like a bad rash. The trouble was, he couldn't make sense of these ideas. All he knew was that the Lich had attacked him in Silverpine Forest, and the battle had cost him a portion of his memories.

Amid the other dramas unfolding all around him, he felt it was best not to mention anything about it. Besides, he was certain that the event would come back to haunt him later.

**End**


	35. Sorry, not a chapter

**Long Overdue Author's Note**

I've got good news and bad news. Hopefully, the good will outweigh the bad, but it's all pretty insubstantial anyway, so this will likely serve as a notice to you all that I'm still alive, and not much else. I'll get the bad out of the way first. I haven't really been working on Voodoo Child in my ridiculous absence. I think I wrote a couple paragraphs from the time I ran headfirst into writer's block until now, but I'm still not close to finishing the next chapter. I'm not saying that I'm done with it. I'd rather not commit to anything like that. However, it's been years since I last played World of Warcraft, and some of my relatives have developed an unhealthy addiction to it soon after I quit. One of them came over for Christmas last year, went into my room while people were still arriving, and somewhat politely kicked me off my computer so she could play. It was double exp weekend, or double reputation, something like that.

And that was her justification. I told her I hadn't patched the game in a while, but she just spent all evening patching then played until long after everyone was gone. We thought the last of the guests had left, then I go back to my room and she's still sitting at my computer. It was kinda scary. I immediately wiped the game from my computer, and conveniently 'lost' the disk.

So…that's just one example of how these relatives have been turning me off to the notion of playing WoW again. Not to mention every time I try to start writing again, I have to go to thottbot for _everything_ since I've long forgotten locations and NPC names. I've got a ton of other reasons for why I haven't been working on Voodoo Child, but none of them are as interesting as my computer being hijacked on a major holiday by a jonesing aunt. I think you get the point anyway.

That's it for the bad news. I'm not quitting, but writing VC is definitely going to be an uphill struggle from now on. However, I _have _been writing other stories, two of my original novels to be precise. I want to get out of fanfiction and into the big leagues, so that could be another reason for why my brain refuses to spit out more misadventures for Xan'Jin and company.

One of these novels is nearly complete, and it happens to be a comedy in a somewhat similar vein to Voodoo Child, so I think that qualifies as good news. Even better, you won't have to wait until it's published. In fact, you could help me publish it! A friend of mine tipped me off to a website called Authonomy, where aspiring novelists can post their manuscripts for free and the publishing company that runs the site chooses some manuscripts to be turned into books.

As soon as my book is done (it has something to do with zombies, Soviet Russia, and classic rock) I'll put it up on this site for you to read, offer suggestions, and maybe vote for it to be published. However, as you know by now, me finishing something isn't exactly a guarantee, so I can't really put a time estimation on when it'll be finished. At least, nothing more specific than 'soon'. 'Sooner than the next chapter of Voodoo Child', probably. Definitely 'sooner than the release of Duke Nukem Forever', but that's not much to shoot for, is it?

Thank you all for caring enough to get angry at me for stopping the story. I really wish I had more for you, but I figured I should make contact before people start holding candlelight memorials.

- Josh Conner (AKA Genoscythe)


	36. Good news, everyone!

**Another Long Overdue Author's Note**

I've got another update for those of you sticking around, and this time it's all good news. As of last Friday, I have finished my first novel. Yes, I actually finished something. And since Duke Nukem Forever doesn't come out until June, that means I actually kept a promise, too. Will the miracles never cease?

Yes. Yes, they will. I've decided not to go the Authonomy route, so you guys won't be able to read my book immediately. However, I'm going to start hunting for publishers this week, and I've already got a few in mind. If those don't pan out, then I'll put it up on Authonomy, but I won't be able to submit my manuscript if the whole thing is floating around on the internet, so I'll have to wait if I want to go straight to the publishers, which I do. So far, I have yet to see any of the books promoted on Authonomy actually make it to publishing, so that's why I'm saving it as a last resort. I haven't been following it closely, but I've seen enough to drum up some skepticism.

Anyway, that's all for now. I'll keep updating just to prove that I'm not making this up, so stay tuned.

- J.S. Conner


	37. Rock Zombie

**Yet Another Author's Note, This One is Fun**

I'm back, once again, and I have all good news this time. My first novel, Rock Zombie, has now been published on Createspace. It's available in high quality paperback for ten bucks plus shipping, and it's a lot like Voodoo Child, only better. I'm pretty sure I'm violating this site's terms of service just by mentioning a commercial product to you guys, so I might as well go all in and give you the link as well. Just type in createspace dot com, then copy and paste /3699807 on the end and take it from there. Alternately, you can find my Facebook page by searching for Rock Zombie (singular, not plural, as there are already plenty of Rock Zombies on Facebook) and follow the link on my wall. You can also give the page a like if you're into that kind of thing. If you have any questions about the self-publishing process, the book, life, the universe, or everything in between, my e-mail is jconner800 at yahoo dot com. Might want to put that down somewhere in case they ban me for this. As always, happy reading.

- J.S. Conner

P.S: Unfortunately, being finished with my book doesn't guarantee new Voodoo Child, as I've already started on my next novel, but I'll see what I can do. Getting banned might put a wrench in those efforts - a tiny one - but it's worth it to spread the rockin' zombie word.


End file.
